We'll Get There Some Day
by SALJStella
Summary: Adam and Lawrence live in two different worlds. At least that's what it looks like from the outside, even to themselves. But when they realize that they live together, stuck in the teenage world of longing, maybe they can work together to get out of it.
1. Prologue: Worlds Apart

**A/N: Hey there! Hmm… Well, it seems like this fic is going to one of my few attempts to write an AU-fic! Because here, we get a view on the hard life of a teenager! Or at least how hard it is when you're Adam and Lawrence, and happen to be the angst-bitches of a sadistic fanfiction-writer. XD And also, even though I can't believe I'm saying this, there actually **_**won't **_**be any slash in this fic! …Or will it? Well, let's ignore my rants, read and find out! **

**Prologue: Worlds Apart**

Your first day in high school should be wonderful.

At least that's what Lawrence has heard. Or, he hasn't even heard it, where he's from, you don't really tell high school stories, but… That's what it's been like in his head.

In his head, he wakes up right now, he discovers that he's late, but it's no big deal.

Because the Lawrence in his head doesn't get late. It's just plain impossible. If the Lawrence in his head wakes up late, it's okay, because if he has to, he waves his hand and makes time move slower. He turns day into night so he can get more sleep, or he could've done that, but he doesn't want to. He wants to go to school, because it's his first day in high school, and he's going to meet new people, ambitious people, and he will _learn _things so his dreams can come true, he'll…

He'll learn things, so that one day, he can get out of here.

But that's the Lawrence in his head.

The real Lawrence wakes up late, and he can't turn back time, can't even be excited, even though he was basically jumping from one foot to the other last night, because what wakes him up is the screeching wailing that seeps out between Louise's fingers when she covers her face with her hands.

And Lawrence will never get used to waking up to that noise.

So instead of waking up slowly and calmly, stretching himself and squinting against the morning light, his eyelids snap open a few seconds after his limbs have gotten a life of their own and started squirming out of bed, so he doesn't really have a choice but to adjust his pajamas and rush up Louise, force her hands apart and try to put on a concerned expression, even though right now, Lawrence hates her, hates her truly and fully because he knows what she's about to say and knows that it'll keep him from going to school at all today.

"Lou, what is it?" Lawrence asks and kneels down in front of her.

Louise looks up at him with eyes that melt every trace of hatred out of his mind.

At least the hatred towards her.

The hatred towards the person who causes this, on the other hand, is bigger than ever before.

"Mom doesn't want to make breakfast," Louise whines, her tiny face retracts in mournful wrinkles. "And… We didn't get dinner yesterday, and I'm so hungry… Lawrence, we're so hungry…"

Lawrence nods briskly and feels his heart sinking in his chest. Even though on some level, he knew that this was going to happen.

That that _fucking _bitch would never let him have anything that made him happy, anything that gave him a chance to get a life, a life that wasn't taking care of her, a life that wasn't shushing his little sister so she doesn't wake their little brother up.

Because if he did, he'd realize how hungry he was, too.

Lawrence has learned how to repress hunger. His little siblings haven't.

"Lou," Lawrence concludes and strokes Louise's shoulders so she actually does quiet down, before he grabs his mom's purse, rummages through it and finds a balled-up five dollar-bill on the bottom of it. "Here's five bucks, okay? Just go down to the store and get some Twinkie's for you and Daniel. You can do that, don't you? You know where the store is…"

Louise's eyes get big under the blond strands in her forehead. Lawrence understands her. She's never heard him disowning responsibility before, and neither has he.

"Can't you do it?" She whimpers, and Lawrence has to look away from those blue eyes, like little puddles of a faithlessness that she's too young for.

"I have to go to school, sweetie," he says, and Louise's whole face falls apart again, her hands go up to her face but still don't block out the sobs, and Lawrence hates that.

He hates that when Louise covers her face with her hands, he notices how bony they are, the knuckles like way too obvious lumps below her fingers.

Her fingers.

Lawrence has seen six year old fingers. Like they're supposed to be. In a magazine sometime.

And he still remembers that, since they were s different from Louise's that he spent the ten bucks mom had given him to buy cigarettes on chocolate for her and Daniel just to get their hands to look more like the ones in the magazine.

They'd been chubby and clean, soft and pink little ovals that closed around stuffed animals, without a care in the world, because that's what a world should look like at that age.

And now, he sees his little sister's fingers, grey from the dirt that puffs in from the fans in the walls of their trailer, thin and knotted like twigs, jagged and bruised from the times she's tried to use the can opener on her own.

And that's enough for Lawrence to really know that he won't go to school today.

So he takes those frail, frail little hands, they almost disappear in his, and looks into her eyes, embraces the guilt they beam into him without intending to.

"Lou, I'll go and get breakfast for us," he says kindly. "Just stay here and keep an eye on Daniel, can you do that?"

Louise nods submissively, and the modest little smile that creeps up on her face is enough to make Lawrence warm inside, and he has to lean forward and kiss her forehead.

"I'm so proud of you, Lou," he says and means it more than he even wants to acknowledge, what kind of damn home do you live in if you're proud of your sister for how long she can go without eating? "You've gone almost two days without food now, right? So you're a big girl?"

Louise nods again, and her smile is now just as cocky as Lawrence would've liked it to be all the time.

"I _am _a big girl," she says with a giggle.

"You _are," _Lawrence repeats proudly. "I'll be back in a few minutes, okay?"

He squeezes her hands slightly before he stands up.

He tries not to look at mom's bed when he walks out the door.

If he really looked at the disarray of dirty hair that sticks up over the brim of the covers, the hand that hangs limply from the edge of the mattress and that isn't dirty at all, since she hasn't worked in years, hasn't lifted a _fucking _finger, since that's what she has her kids for, he wouldn't be able to leave Louise and Daniel alone with her. He's sure of that.

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Adam wakes up from Mary's soft hand on his arm, and already then knows that his day is ruined for no special reason at all.

So he grumbles, shrugs her hand off and buries his head under his pillow, and Mary doesn't remark that at all. That annoys him even more.

It's weird that he hates her. If he met her outside of this place, she'd be his only friend. He'd love her more than he's ever loved anyone, simply because he's never done that.

But as it is, he can't look at her without seeing that invisible label in her forehead, on her dress that's black in a way that makes it seem designed to blend into the walls, the label that says _this is how much money they have. _

For Christ's sake. She's his _housekeeper. _The girl _lives _in his house only to make sure that he stays as ridiculously spoiled as he tries so desperately to avoid.

So Adam hates her. And even if he wouldn't, he'd hate anyone who woke him up at this hour on his goddamned holiday.

"Mary, it's eight o'clock," Adam hisses and rolls over to his back when she tries to grab his hand to take the pillow away. "It's my fucking _summer holiday. _So would you please get out of here and let me _sleep?" _

And when she answers, her voice is as smooth and cool as his silk curtains, and _God, _that pisses him off more than anything.

"Adam, today is your first day in high school. You have to get up now, or you'll be late."

Adam moans something inaudibly, and his mood sinks even further, and by this, is on the ultimate bottom of the barrel. So if he goes to school, he'll say something to at least one of his teachers that will give him a definite F, he feels it all over.

So after Mary's taken clothes out of his closet, after he's thrown all of them back in and taken his _own_ clothes out, Adam gets dressed and walks outside. Ignores the glances from the men that walk past him, pretends not to notice the movements that get jerky under the expensive suits, pretends not to feel the looks they give his too big, washed-down Sex Pistols-t-shirt, his worn, black jeans, the Doc Martin-boots he wears despite the warmth.

That's not true, though. He doesn't ignore a single one of those glances, he sucks them all in.

Because he knows he's expected to wear the same suit as them. And the evil little spirit inside him, the one that told him to dress like this, instead, feeds on these glances, they're its fuel. Its nutrition.

And since he gets those glances every day, the spirit has gotten pretty big by now.

Adam looks around the sidewalk. Well, if you look past the little rich man's punks that are on their way to school with their water-combed hair and their school books under their arms like nice little boys, today looks like it's going to be good. It's the end of August, that time of the year when the yellow sunlight from the approaching fall can't outshine the warm breezes from the remains of the summer.

It's that kind of weather that makes it utterly impossible to stay inside.

Because it reawakens that anxious longing for something else that Adam actually manages to suppress most of the time, sends little twitches out to his fingertips, wakes his dark heart up and makes the evil spirit swell in his chest.

So Adam walks away.

Not in the same direction as The Nice Boys, he just walks. He walks along the sidewalk, lights a cigarette and looks at the world around him through a mist of despise, and loves every second, because it's better than home.

By this, both Adam and Lawrence miss their first day in high school. Lawrence because he has to, and Adam because he wants to, and only this fact says something important about what will bring them together.

Lawrence needs the school to get out of his trailer, and Adam needs to get out of school to get out of his Nice Boy-room. And because of these differences between them, it will take them a while to notice the similarity.

Even though the similarity should outdo the differences right away, since it's bigger than anything else in their life.

The need to get out.

And that need is more important than anything, yes. But since Lawrence is too busy being reminded of the fact that what he'll most likely do all his life is to take care of his younger siblings, and Adam is too busy with his halfhearted attempt to a revolt, they won't get out today.

In fact, they won't get out for quite a while.

But by the simple act of not going to school today, they postpone the encounter that will, despite what it might seem like first, bring them one step closer to freedom a little longer.

**Hehe… I figured Adam's had to play the poor card and Lawrence the rich one for so long, it's only fair the tables turn. They'll both still be unhappy, though, so all is well! Please review! **


	2. Sick Of Words

**A/N: YARG, how long it's been... Well, will you forgive me if I promise that I'll update as much as Adam and Lawrence have sex when the holidays start? I know it's hard, but I can do it! I think! XD But anyway, here's a new chapter, and let's just say... First impressions can be tough! Wink wink. **

**2: Sick Of Words**

The first time Lawrence told his mom that he wanted to start high school, she first looked at him like he was insane. But after just a few seconds, her eyes turned into slits, her accusing glance pierced the smoke from her cigarette that rested between them.

"High school?"

She spat the words out.

"Why would you start there?"

"Because I want to."

Lawrence was surprised that he was able to sound so untouched. Maybe it was because he'd entered that stage in his life when he'd realized that his mother would never be proud of him, so caring about what she thought was a complete waste of time.

His mother scoffed. Normally, her despise would be put gentler, that accusing glance would be padded by the shiny film of indifference over her eyes.

"Are you too good to stay here?"

"Yeah."

She'd turned her face away. But at these words, she jerked her head against him, those eyes were dying light bulbs, not even the anger was able to alight them, just enough to make them flutter softly.

"And so is Lou. And Daniel."

At that point, she was so incredibly mad that she couldn't even talk, her painted lips were parted and air passed them in stuttering gasps, but no words came out. Lawrence didn't care. He just clasped his hands in front of him, put his eyes somewhere at her knees just to symbolize his lovelessness towards her.

"Because none of us are going to be like you."

After that, Lawrence had stood up from the collapsible bed he'd sat on and went to read a bedtime story to Louise. And he didn't even think about the fact that he hadn't called her 'mom.'

Lawrence does have civil rights, even though he's poor. He knows that he's entitled to go to school for free.

But the thing is, the schools he's entitled to are in his neighborhood. And you only have to know what neighborhood that is to get what kind of schools there are there, and those are so much less than what Lawrence wants. None of those schools would train him for what he wants to be.

But that's not really it, he knows that, too. Those schools could put a scalpel in his hand and let him perform his own goddamned operation, he still wouldn't go to them.

They're still in his neighborhood. They're still here. And Lawrence wants to be _there,_ even though he's not sure where that is.

Wants to get out.

So he didn't care about his civil rights. He recycled cans all summer, he begged on the streets, he took crappy jobs for six bucks an hour, he stopped caring about his civil rights just so he could get to a level that was above civil.

He wants to be someone.

And that paid off.

Because the gates he's standing in front of now, at his second day in high school that is still his first, wearing clothes that he had to sell all his ordinary ones to get, surrounded by people who take these clothes for granted, and with such a drooping joy and such numbing horror filling his entire body, he knows are gates that can turn him into someone.

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Adam spots her a few feet away from the school. She went here before him, they didn't go together and Adam doesn't want to. She asked him this morning if he did, but he didn't answer, very cautious about preserving the sound between them. The sound that's not really silence, since she babbles on like teenage girls do, but that still might as well be completely quiet, since it's just as depressing.

Claire's chirping voice, talking-talking-talking about anything that crosses her mind, so desperate to keep some sort of contact between them intact.

And Adam's face, dead and cold, her light little voice bounces off his head, doesn't touch him at all.

That's the way Adam wants it. He doesn't want to talk to her, doesn't want to be her big brother. If she weren't his sister, he'd love her like she was one. But since she is, and the connection between them is undeniable, which Adam's forced indifference only underlines, all he feels for her is a strange sense of melancholy.

Because she doesn't deserve the way he feels about her. She hasn't done anything to him.

Except for just being who she is. And what makes Adam sad is that she can't change that.

Claire Faulkner is standing next to the gates of her school. She's pretty as ever, the red grape-colored sunlight makes her hair look like black flames, a straight waterfall from her head. Adam Faulkner's standing a few feet away from her. He watches her. She doesn't know that he's watching.

Adam could walk up to her. Say that they'd see each other later. Wish her good luck on her first day.

Be a big brother.

But their relationship doesn't allow that. Claire can be Adam's little sister, so if she saw him, she could do all those things for him. But as it is, she doesn't see him, and Adam, being completely unable to love someone who is everything he'd be if he only dared, walks past her, through the gates of the school, into a building he hates but would rather be in than watching such an obvious proof of his failures any day.

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Lawrence pretends that his hands aren't trembling when he walks up the stairs. The truth is that they're shaking so much that his nails would scratch back and forth over the covers of the books he's holding if he hadn't sanded them down yesterday.

Yes, he said 'sanded.' There are no nail scissors in Lawrence's trailer, since mom doesn't want her clients to have access to sharp objects they can use on her. So to shorten his nails for his big day, Lawrence had to find a rough spot on the mudguards on his home, rub his nails against it back and forth, until his fingertips bled, too, hide his hands from Lou when he walked back inside.

It's pretty stupid, though. He knows that his nails aren't important at all to the people on this school.

He just really wants to pretend to be the Lawrence in his dream world. And this is one step closer. Just like he gets closer and closer with every step he takes into the school. Maybe that's why he has troubles staying on his feet.

The rest of the students don't seem to think it's this ceremonious, though. The girls walk around in packs, giggling and chattering, the guys greet each other, cheerily and politely, as the nice boys they are. And even though Lawrence feels both giggly and cheery right now, he doesn't really feel like he'd belong in any of these groups.

They're too happy. He needs someone who's as nervous as him, and then dump all his own nerve-jerking fright on.

"They're not vampires, man. Even if they're pale."

Lawrence makes a dreadfully girly noise as he startles, and isn't even able to turn around before he's managed to get his blood back in order. And even when he has, the sight of the modestly smirking kid behind him is enough to send his vessels flying again. But in a much more angry way.

He shouldn't call him 'kid,' though, he doesn't seem younger than Lawrence. Sure, he's short as a thirteen year-old and skinny as Lawrence himself, and all that could've given him away. But as it is, there's a maturity lingering in his features, the wisdoms of an old man and the stubborn rebelliousness of an eighteen year-old in his eyes, and as much as Lawrence would like to feel powerful over him, he can't.

Even though he could easily be as poor as Lawrence, since the clothes he wears looks like the things he wears when he's home with Louise. Even though Lawrence is taller, stronger, even though he could smack him to the ground with one strike if he wanted to. Lawrence still can't feel powerful over him.

The young man's too dangerous for that. Lawrence feels that straight away.

But in the meantime, this simple comment is enough for all the joy, all the excitement he feels over being here, drowns in the fear of screwing up, the frustration for everything he has to give up for being here and the light, gnawing anxiety he feels at the thought of Lou at home. His feelings are water and oil, so similar but still never being able to mix, and right now, the bad feelings are the oil. They bubble to the surface, and Lawrence feels it.

"What do you mean?"

His voice almost hits a falsetto, since he's not used to snapping with people in his own age, but the other boy doesn't seem to notice it. He just steps up next to Lawrence and looks at the students scurrying around in front of them with a despise so big that Lawrence basically feel it radiating from his body.

"You look at them like they're monsters. Trust me, if one of us should be nervous, it's me, and I couldn't be more bored if I sat in a conference room with the daddy that probably bought that pretty suit for you."

Lawrence gets so annoyed. And in the meantime, it's like this is what he's waited for the whole day.

Here he is, his insides bulge from the emotions he has to let out to have a smile on his face when he meets his new teachers.

And here's this kid, who he'll never have to talk to again, and that looks at him in a way like he already has a comeback for whatever Lawrence might say.

Lawrence has never been a feisty guy. But this one's unavoidable.

"Are you sure?" Lawrence snaps and turns to him. "Because you look exactly like you come from the sort of neighborhood where the hookers are so cheap that when you give them your last nickle to blow you, you at least get a _little _more bored than this."

Adam chuckles bitterly and turns to Lawrence, tries to think away the at least ten inches that seperate the tops of their heads.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, we've got a live one," he smirks, his words as sharp as salmiak on his tongue.

As sharp as his smile. And Lawrence gets so incredibly annoyed, and he loves Adam for doing this to him.

If he didn't have aything sure to focus his emotions on right now, they'd get too much, push up against his skin, crack it and seep out like blood.

"Just so you know," Adam goes on, softer now, but so much harsher, so much harsher, "I suggest you don't even try to use words like those. The whole concept of using blowjobs as an insult sort of loses its magic when we both know that that's exactly what you did to get into this school in the first place."

Lawrence has never been a feisty guy. He likes to believe that you have to be able to trap up your emotions to be a good doctor, because honestly, what more stressful situation can there be than standing in an OR with someone else's blood on your hands? And what would it look like then if you just lost it and broke down in tears?

Lawrence has never started a fight in his life. And the things Adam said weren't that bad, hell, he's heard worse insults from his own mother, dirtier innuendos being said to Wendy from people who don't even know her.

So he shouldn't do this. He should be able to control himself.

But he does. He does jump on Adam, he feels the smaller body collapse under his weight and he feels Adam recoil when Lawrence's fists hit him, not aiming, just hitting, hitting, hitting, in any place they may find, wordless and pointless ways to get rid of tensions that he shouldn't even have, and yes, Adam recoils, but just for as long it takes for him to land on the ground with Lawrence's body weight over him, but once they're there, he fights back with almost more strength than what should be able to fit into such a small body, the hands that looked so small and pale when they were hanging by his sides now strike Lawrence in the face, once on the ear and makes it ring dully, once on the mouth so hard that Lawrence feels blood seeping into the creases of the skin on his lips.

They manage to get pretty far into it. Maybe because they really are that strong, but that doesn't seem very believable.

It seems more like they're so senselessly frustrated and happened to pick each other as targets for that. Because if their aggressions were so big that it almost felt like a blow against the head just when they looked at each other, then it'd be impossible not to get injured when they started fighting for real.

But either way, they do manage to get pretty far into it. So far into it that when two teachers arrive only a minute later and manage to pull them out of the tangle of limbs and their own furious punches, Lawrence can't even feel on what particular place his face hurts, and Adam's panting like a raging animal, the sleeve of his T-shirt is ripped at the seem.

They don't even take their eyes off each other when the teachers grab their already bruised arms and screeches something about the principal's office.

They're too busy making a silent deal to always hate each other to hear that. And they're also too busy with that to get that if this isn't the perfect way to start a friendship, nothing is.

**Aw... Young love is tough, isn't it! Even when you have to be a ChainShipper to see it! :) Anyway, I know I've been a lazy bitch with the updates, so you shouldn't even have forgiven me yet, but still review! Pretty please? **


	3. Girls Don't Get It

**A/N: Damn, I've missed this fic! And yes, I know I left the last chapter right after Adam and Lawrence had physically touched each other, and that's usually reason enough for me to write something juicy in the following chapter, but I'm actually breaking the pattern with this one. Because as a matter of fact, they still hate each other in this chapter. :) **

**3: Girls Don't Get It**

Adam hisses something inaudibly when the teacher - there's only one now, there were two who separated them, but one gave up when Adam told her to fuck off - tries to grab his shoulder after Adam's yanked it out of his grip for the third time, and by the time they reach the principal's office, the teacher's given up and lets him walk on his own. Lawrence, on the other hand, hasn't tried to break loose since he was pulled off the ground, hell, he's barely noticed he's held fast.

He's busy cursing himself. Trying to block out that icing, sour ball in his stomach.

_You idiot. You fucking idiot. _

Yes. Yes, Lawrence is an idiot. In fact, he's such an incredibly stupid fucking idiot that he wishes there could be a school shooting right now and he would be the one unfortunate hostage that was killed and who's picture you placed against the school wall so people could put flowers on it, because seriously, how the hell, how the _hell _could he be so stupid that he screwed up an opportunity he'd waited his whole life for because some damn slum kid pissed him off?

No, it's not true that he wants the school shooter to kill him. It'd be better if he killed the slum kid first. Or Lawrence might do it himself.

Lawrence glances over at the kid on the other side of the teacher when he knocks on the principal's door. His eyes are firmly fixed on something straight in front of him in an angry glare, and his back is straight, his shoulders thin but so high under the washed-down t-shirt.

He looks like he's prepared for an attack that he knows will be upon him.

Lawrence barely manages to think the thought before the principal opens the door, his hand is so big that the handle basically disappears in it and his body is so big that it almost seems to struggle against the frame, like he has to work really hard to get his shoulder past the doorposts to shake the teacher's hand.

"What do we have here?"

Lawrence really understands why he's the principal. His eyes are like those glistening black bugs that always land on their backs and that Lou has to flip over again or she feels guilty, and the brows above them are thick and black, almost disappear in the steel-wool disarray on his head. Even the teacher, who still had the strength to separate two furious teenagers, seem to shrink down at the sight of him

"Just a fist fight," the teacher says and finally lets go of Lawrence's shoulder. "This young man," he goes on and points to Adam, very cautious about not touching him, "is Claire Faulkner's big brother, so…"

"What fucking difference does it make that I'm her brother?" Adam hisses, his eyes get even sterner when they go to the teacher's face.

"Mr. Faulkner," the principal says, and his deep baritone is enough to make even Adam shut up, though still with a grumpy look on his face. "I think it's best that you both come in here."

Adam grumbles something and somehow pushes himself past the enormous body in the door opening. Lawrence follows him, but he tries to stay a few steps behind Adam. He has a feeling those things that Adam's just mumbling to himself right now would be said out loud if Lawrence came close enough, and he's not in the mood for that. They're still probably things he's been saying to himself ever since his hand lost it's clutch on Adam's shirt.

He needs this. For Lou and for Daniel, he needs it.

So when the principal sits down behind the desk and clasps his football-sized hands in front of him, Lawrence realizes that the future of his family depends on this conversation. That makes the ball in his stomach melt and sort of writhe around, like it was a living thing.

It's quiet. For a really long time. The principal just seems to want to torture them as long as possible, Adam's in such a bad mood that Lawrence can almost feel the negativity to his left, and he himself isn't sure if he's expected to start making excuses.

But it breaks after a while. The principal clears his throat, takes a pen from a jar to his left, picks up a big folder that doesn't look very big in his hands from the top drawer and opens it without looking at them.

"My name is Mr. Salin," he says with that voice that sounds like two rocks rubbing against each other. "And yours?"

"Lawrence Gordon," Lawrence croaks out.

Mr. Salin nods and looks at Adam. His eyes glisten disapprovingly under the eyebrows, and Adam replies with a twice as killing look back at him.

"And yours?" Mr. Salin rumbles.

Lawrence doesn't get how Adam can seem so tough when he hears a voice that was scary even before getting that warning tone in it. But maybe it's enough if you fake it.

Adam scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest.

"You know my name, Salin."

"Yes, I do," Mr. Salin snaps back in a way that sounds too childish to fit into that figure. "And why do I know that?"

Adam rolls his eyes.

"Because I was going to start here last year, but my parents didn't let me."

"Exactly," Mr. Salin says, calmer now. "And why didn't they let you?"

"Because my Barbie-doll baby sister starts this year, and if she's not there to keep her long-lashed little eyes on me, I'm going to place a homemade bomb in one of the bathrooms," Adam replies before Mr. Salin manages to finish his sentence, and he's already getting to his feet. "So I should be ashamed for messing up Richie Rich's haircut on his first day, I get it. Nice talking to you."

Then, Adam walks towards the door without looking back. Mr. Salin doesn't look surprised at all, but then again, if he's only talked to Adam once before, that should probably be enough to get that he won't stay in a room he doesn't want to be in.

"Your parents will hear about this, Mr. Faulkner," he says calmly to Adam's back.

"I'm dreading it," Adam says, and Lawrence actually sees a hint of a smile before he closes the door behind him.

Mr. Salin looks at the door for a brief second after it closes, with that cold kind of disappointment that only grownups can bring out, before he looks at Lawrence again. Lawrence thought that this would be the definite end of all things to come, but Mr. Salin just observes him, it feels like those black eyes see right through him. Right to his anxiety, his nervousness, that ball in his stomach.

Maybe that's why he, a few seconds later, settles for opening his mouth and saying:

"Lawrence?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Will you ever do this again?"

"No, of course not, I would never…"

Mr. Salin waves his hand dismissingly.

"Then you can go. I'll call your mom later."

Lawrence feels how his relief gets drowned by the ball, that instead of staying in his stomach, is pushing dangerously close to his larynx.

"Mr. Salin," he says, lifts a trembling hand to point to the folder. "That folder…"

"It says your parents' occupation, your address, and a bunch of other stuff you don't want me to know," Mr. Salin interrupts, without looking up, and Lawrence has to swallow hard, past the ball in his throat, even though he didn't have any breakfast.

No. Please, no.

Mr. Salin almost seems to hear his thoughts. He looks up, and once again, those black eyes see everything. But maybe it's because Lawrence suspects that all his horrors are like a mask over his face now.

"I won't tell anyone, for God's sake. But let me assure you that you're not the only slum kid in this school. Now, get out of my office."

Lawrence doesn't need to be convinced. He knows that if he runs out, it'll be too suspect, but he still stands up and walks as quickly as he can through the room, out the door, spots the toilets further down the hall and a few seconds later, his stomach wrings out like a dishcloth, tries to find something to throw up while Lawrence stands double-folded across the basin, but only finds stomach acid, it burns in the cut Adam made on his lip.

Lawrence hates Adam from now on. He decides that when he sits down on the dirty floor and wipes the sweat off his upper lip with a trembling hand. He hates him from the very core of his being.

If not because he made him miss his first class, then because he made Mr. Salin open that folder and see the secret behind his ambition, see Lou's pleading blue eyes stare back at him from the paper.

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Claire comes home later than Adam. Of course, that could depend on the fact that he went straight home after he walked out of Salin's office, but Adam still can't help but making some dry remark in his head about how _incredibly _busy and important she is who has to go to a coffee place with her fellow bird-chirpers and chirp about nail polish.

Bitch.

"Hello, big brother," Claire says - chirps - when she enters the kitchen and Adam's sitting by the table with his feet on the opposite chair. "How was your first day?"

Adam turns the page in the feature-section of his newspaper. There's nothing good on TV tonight.

He almost never answers her, but today, he has to. The evil genius tells him that.

"I was sent home."

Claire takes the water boiler from the counter and puts it under the tap. She doesn't seem surprised at all, and Adam hates her more than ever.

"Because of that fight?"

Adam glances over at her.

"You saw that?"

"No," Claire says and picks the box of teabags out of one of the cupboards without looking at him. "I would've helped you if I did, you know that. Someone told me."

Adam nods bitterly and spots a bad movie on Channel Five. One thing he can watch tonight.

"Of course they did."

She pretends not to hear the bitterness in his voice. She always does.

"Yeah, someone asked me if I was going to tell on you to mom and dad," Claire goes on casually as the roaring from the water boiler fills the kitchen.

She jumps up to sit on the counter while she places the teabag in her cup. She chuckles innocently and looks at him, almost like she's asking for permission.

"They obviously don't know you very well if they didn't get that you won't tell them yourself, huh?"

Adam looks at her.

Claire Faulkner is sitting on the counter. Nice girls wouldn't do that. She does it anyway.

She wears a t-shirt with the text 'Little Miss Chatterbox' on it, it's tight over her chest, and there's a thing that looks like Ms. Packman on her stomach. Her jeans are low-cut, and she always insists on having her calendar in her back pocket, even though it always falls out when she's sitting down.

Claire Faulkner isn't perfect. But she's one of those people who can do whatever they want, because they will always be perfect. Somehow.

And Claire Faulkner has a teacup with her name on it, white, wobbling letters on blue china, and Adam has one just the same. They both got one when they were born.

As a constant proof that they would always be together. Always be compared.

Adam will always be compared with someone he'll never be able to compete with. Because she's perfect, always perfect, and he will never be.

And Adam hates that.

So he stands up, leaves the newspaper open on the table, and sends Claire a toxic glance that she replies with a completely natural one. That's still perfect.

"I don't want them to know me," Adam says darkly, before he passes her, through the kitchen door and through the hallway to his room.

He doesn't see Mary on the way. He's incredibly grateful for that.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Lawrence's first love was Barefoot Girl.

He clearly remembers that. He doesn't remember a first time or something, she was just another kid on the block, but still the most beautiful one ever. She was the only kid on the block that could be so incredibly dirty and broken and worked down like a coin that used to be shiny, and he'd loved her as intensely as only a nine year-old can love.

And even though it's six years later now, she still doesn't have shoes, so technically, she should still be Barefoot Girl. But since she's his best friend now, instead of just someone that Lawrence has to blush and run away when he sees, but still look at around the corner because he can't let go of her, he calls her Wendy. It seems more sensible in a way.

And now, Lawrence and Wendy are sitting on the wreck of a car, only the skeleton of the frame is still left since it's been picked bare of all the valuable parts, they're drinking warm beer in the orange evening sun, and even though Lawrence knows that Lou and Daniel are at home in their beds, he can't help but feeling like he's forgotten something.

"Hey," Wendy suddenly says and turns to him. Her dark eyes look like they're on fire when they reflect the sunset. "I forgot to ask. How was school?"

Lawrence blushes weakly and looks away from her.

Of course he would've told her about his first day in school. Hell, he's been jumping up and down every time he's seen her for the past week, but he hasn't said anything about it today.

Sure, the rest of the classes went okay. No big drama or anything, and more than anything, Adam wasn't there.

But he wants to tell her about a perfect day. He wants to tell him about a small smile from a teacher when he got an answer right, a day when he stood out from the crowd.

Just one day.

But Lawrence knows he won't be able to tell Wendy a lie without her noticing it, so he just sips his beer again and mutters into the bottle:

"I got into a fight."

Wendy turns to him again, her eyes widen in a surprise that doesn't fit on her slender face.

"You got into a fight?!"

Lawrence rolls his eyes with a shrug.

"I was nervous, okay?" He snaps, even though he's not really mad at her. "And then this kid walked up to me and said something about how he couldn't be more bored if he were at a meeting with the daddy who probably brought this pretty suit for me, and I… I snapped."

Wendy turns to him again, with a little wrinkle between her brows as she scans over the worn-down t-shirt and gapingly scraped jeans he's wearing now.

"You wore a _suit?" _

Lawrence has to laugh, even though he feels oddly hopeless.

"You sound more offended at that than the fight."

Wendy's widened eyes narrow, glisten tiredly as she laughs, and then sips her beer.

"What happened?" Wendy asks and places the bottle leaning against her stomach, balancing on the rim of her jeans. "Did you get caught?"

"Yeah," Lawrence nods. "I was sent to the principal. That kid I fought with… Adam, he just took off after the principal said something about how he was held back a year, so he could start the same year as his little sister. He apparently needs her to look after him so he doesn't get into trouble. But I stayed, and the principal, he… Looked in my records, and said he'd call mom."

Wendy nods, with a lowered gaze, and fidgets with the label on her bottle.

"He didn't get through to Sofia, though, did he?" She asks, softer now. Like she's gotten why he's really upset.

"I don't think so," Lawrence says and takes the last sips of his beer. "She… She's been sleeping all day."

Pause.

"But I think he gets why," Lawrence says, and tries to sound like he doesn't care, even though he wouldn't fool someone who _hadn't _known him for six years with this. "I mean, if he saw where I lived in the record… He must've gotten what she… Does. He must've gotten why I'm here."

Wendy nods. The glow in her eyes that only Lawrence seems to be able to bring out has died away already.

Lawrence is also the only one who can make her eyes as darkly sympathetic as they are now. Because she's never this unhappy if he isn't, too, she has too little to lose for that.

"I hope he didn't," Wendy says sincerely and looks at him again.

Lawrence nods. The words _me, too _hang between them, he doesn't have to say them, so they're quiet for a while longer.

"That Adam…" Wendy says after a whole minute. "He thought you were a rich man's kid?"

"Yeah," Lawrence says.

He feels the childishly vain tears burn behind his eyelids, but they don't come out.

Then they're quiet again. Just watch the sun drown in the oily smoke from the chimneys that barely manages to rise above the rooftops. The air is heavy with dry heat, you can taste the dust in it. They're sitting in an abandoned scrap yard on the chassis of an old car, leaning against the windshield.

This is where they live.

Neither of them have to point out the irony in Adam's statement.

"It must've taken you forever to get enough money to buy that suit," Wendy says quietly after a while.

After that, she leans her head against Lawrence's shoulder and they're quiet until the sun has been devoured by the smoke on the roofs. Then a man passes by them, and Wendy lifts her head from Lawrence's shoulder and asks him politely if he has some change he can spare them. The man scans Wendy up and down and says that he won't give her any change if she doesn't earn them in some way, and then Wendy's eyes narrow and says that she can earn them by kick him in the balls, and Lawrence grabs her arm and leads her away, for the sake of them both.

He won't miss school tomorrow because he has to be in a courtroom and explain why he strangled some creep in a scrap yard. It's just not worth it.

**Okay, don't worry, Lawrence won't be straight in this fic. Just wanted to set that straight before I got any threatening mail. XD I know I said Adam and Lawrence won't be together in this fic, but even with that, seeing Lawrence with a girl would be… Ew. Let's drop that image straight away. And let's review! **


	4. Old Habits Die Hard

**A/N: Hi there! Okay, so this chapter is pretty pointless, but I still had to write it… After all, what would my fanfics be without my long rants? Including the ones in my ANs? XD Anyway, read!**

**4: Old Habits Die Hard**

Lawrence wakes up the next morning with new determination.

It feels a little more like that fantasy he had about the perfect high school morning. The sunlight comes in through the vent and tickles his eyes gently, and he actually did sleep well tonight. No Daniel screaming, no mom sneaking out and tripping over Lawrence's shoes.

Lawrence gets the perfect first high school morning. Two days too late.

And yesterday, that would've given him a minor panic attack. But today, he swings his legs out of the bed, sits up and spots Lou sitting in front of Daniel's crib. Apparently he hasn't woken up yet.

She's playing silently with a stone that she's tied a string around. Drags it around on the floor and leaves dusty fingerprints on the string that's already grey. Her brows are furrowed, like she's really focused, can't miss a second, and Lawrence gets so incredibly sad that it's almost too much for a newly awakened head.

That's the only toy she's ever had.

"Morning, Lou," he says quietly and stands up.

Lou looks up, smiles widely.

"Morning, Larry," she whispers. "Are you going to school?"

"Yeah," Lawrence says and plants a quick kiss on the top of her head when he passes her. "But we should have some breakfast first, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Lou says with a big smile and follows him up to the spirit stove in the far end of the trailer.

Lawrence opens the fridge and looks around. Yogurt, milk, a few peaches that don't look too bad. At least they won't starve.

"Larry?"

Lawrence doesn't look over his shoulder to see the head that rises up in the bed next to him. Doesn't want to see the messy hair, like a blond burrow and see that Lou's hair looks way too much like that, too.

"Morning, mom," Lawrence says plainly and takes the yogurt out of the fridge and places it on top of it. "Do we have any clean bowls?"

Lou immediately takes two dirty bowls that stand next to the yogurt on the fridge and starts rinsing them off under the tap, and once again, that overwhelmingly big sorrow wells up as Lawrence starts cutting the peaches to pieces on the tiny table under their only window.

He doesn't want her to clean bowls.

He wants Lou to go to school. He wants her to get that she deserves more than this, more than becoming like their mother, despite what she's told. By mom, by kids they meet in the grocery store when Lawrence takes her there with him.

She deserves to go to school, deserves to feel safe there. And she deserves to have a big brother that beats up all the potential Adams she'll meet there.

Lawrence makes a silent pledge to always be that big brother when mom rolls out of bed with a moan and wraps her sheet around her. Lawrence places the peaches in the two bowls and pours yogurt over them.

There's barely enough for both bowls. Lawrence gives Lou the one with the most yogurt in it.

"How was school yesterday?" Mom asks hoarsely and walks up to them.

"It was okay," Lawrence says and starts eating his yogurt so quickly that it gets on his chin, he's already in a hurry. "There are a few peaches left in the fridge. Just make sure Daniel gets a little."

"Sure."

A nice word in the morning, an invitation to breakfast. That's as close to love as they'll ever be.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Lawrence really does feel good today. For the first time in a really long time, he feels very good. Like the whole process of making his dreams come true has been held back two days, but now, it can start for real.

Fine. He had a bad beginning. He screwed up bad on the first two days, but he doesn't really see a problem with that. Because the way he sees it, the simple solution to that is to spend the following 363 days being the best possible student that anyone could ever imagine. Can't go wrong, right?

"Morning, rich boy," Adam says merrily when Lawrence walks up to him - yes, he does it on purpose, even though he regrets it the second he hears those words - and grabs his elbow as gently as he can bring himself to. "Got spanked by daddy for messing up your suit last night?"

"Adam," Lawrence mumbles and tries to control the anger that he feels towards Adam that's so big that he very rarely feels it even towards mom. "I need to talk to you."

"I'm honored," Adam says sweetly and straightens the worn knapsack on his shoulder. "But I actually really don't feel like talking to you, since I have a strong feeling that you'd piss me off even more than you've done by the simple act of existing."

"Adam," Lawrence repeats, tries to keep himself from growling it out, and steers Adam away from the cloud of perfume and pre-pubertal voices that's on its way into the school.

Adam mutters something, maybe not enjoying this as much as before, and follows Lawrence to the corner of the wall where the gutter goes down and the girls spend the breaks with the boys whose unconditional horniness forces them to make out with them or anyone else. None of them are there now, though.

"Adam, listen," Lawrence says and tries not to look at him, those eyes make him ridiculously insecure. "I… I have an idea. Why don't we try to spend the rest of the semester avoiding each other? For the sake of us both?"

Adam smiles slightly. His face doesn't move at all.

"Why, exactly?"

"Because I want to finish this year," Lawrence answers, and finally finds the courage or the anger to look him in the eye. "I want to spend it in the classrooms instead of Mr. Salin's office with you. Can't you please…"

"Christ," Adam interrupts with a moan and rolls his eyes. "Man, _pick _your fucking battles! The only time in your life you're ever going to have to use those baby-pink hands will be if fucking World War III breaks out! But trust me, if you want to be a doctor or a lawyer or whatever the _hell_ you want to be, all you have to do is work those CEO-cocks until you pleasure them enough for them to hire your sorry ass!"

Lawrence had braced himself for Adam saying something like this. After all, you only have to know Adam for a little more than a day to get that he doesn't like it when anyone tells him what to do. Even if it's something as plain as avoiding someone he doesn't like. Lawrence made an awful mistake when he thought it'd be that easy.

But when Adam says this, Lawrence can't keep that in mind. He can't keep that in mind, or his holy pledge to be a completely flawless student, or the thought of Lou and the twigs she has for fingers.

He can't keep any of that in mind. Because when Adam says that, it's exactly all those things that _do _come to his mind, all the things he has to work for, all the reasons why he can never relax, never let the shoulders drop or the image of those twig-fingers out of his head, because if he lost his motivation for just a second, that'd be enough to make him remember how badly wants to get rid of it. All of it.

Adam says Lawrence never has to work. Even though that's all he's been doing for his entire life.

And for that very reason, Lawrence misses his first lesson. Not because the fight lasts for very long, but because it _does _take time to sit in Mr. Salin's office and look at those glistening black insects under his eyebrows, anything to avoid looking at Adam and the blood that's drying under his nose, anything to not think about the dull numbness in his left eye where the bruis is spreading and that place on his scalp where Adam's yanked on his hair.

That takes a little while. Mr. Salin actually spends almost five minutes just staring at them, before he says that he'll tell all their teachers to keep them at two separate ends of the classroom, and that's when Adam stands up with a low curse and walks out the door.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Adam's lying on his bed, fingers on his swollen nose and wonders how a rich boy can actually strike that hard, when there's a knock on the door. His mom opens without waiting for an answer, and he doesn't expect her to.

"Hi, honey."

"Hey."

She walks up to his bed, sits down. It feels like she's trying to think of a way to approach him, and maybe that's sweet, but Adam still feels like she's trying to think of a way to talk to the criminal with a gun that's soothing enough for him not to pull the trigger. And the evil genius inside him snickers evilly.

"I got a call from Mr. Salin today."

"Yeah, I got that."

His mom nods. Adam glances over at her, with a small smile playing on his lips, and notes that everyone in his family looks the same. Soft, dark hair, pale skin, always those light eyes that's fixed on something else than the person they talk to. He manages to work up quite an annoyance about that before mom starts talking again.

"Adam," she says, her voice sounds aching in a weird way. "Why do you have to do it?"

Adam looks up at the ceiling. The place on his leg where she's put her hand feels tainted and slimy.

"He pissed me off."

"Yes, I get that!" Mom says, louder now. "But can't you stand above that? You behave like a six year-old who can't look past someone teasing you."

"And how _do_ you want me to be, mom?" Adam blurts out and looks at her again with harsh eyes. "Like Claire? Or you?"

"I don't want you to be like _this, _that's all I'm saying," mom hisses. "But do you? Do you think you'll get anywhere by… By dressing in these clothes and not even be _let into school _before your little sister is?!"

"It sure as hell won't get me to where you are, so yes," Adam spits out through clenched teeth, and his eyes go from light as those of all the people he hates so much, to dark, dark as his soul and dark as he wants to be, and the evil genius laughs out loud.

Mom stares silently at him for a while, almost as angry as him, but still with that constant fear of lowering to his level, so after a few seconds, she looks down, and Adam grins slyly.

He won.

"Maria and Sue are coming over for dinner," she says and talks about her sisters. "Should I ask Mary to bring you some food, so you can eat in here?"

"You don't want me down there to talk about what I've been doing lately?" Adam asks, and his grin grows wider.

Mom doesn't even pretend to have heard him, and Adam chuckles weakly and starts fingering his nose again.

"I can get food myself," he says, and mom nods and stands up. Adam glances at the door when it closes behind her.

He would've gotten angrier that she's so ashamed of him that she doesn't even want him in the same room as her sisters. Just as she probably should've gotten angrier that he fights in school and won't become like Claire in any possible aspect, but none of the things they've talked about are news to them. They've had this conversations a million times before, and just like then, it starts nothing and ends nothing. Nothing is resolved.

When Adam enters the kitchen an hour later, his aunts are already there, Maria with too much hairspray and Sue with purple lipstick. Dad isn't there, so they talk to mom and giggle in that high-pitched way that girls only do when there are no guys around.

"We're hoping that Claire will get a scholarship," mom says right when Adam takes a knife and fork from a drawer. "We've known her principal, Mr. Salin, for quite a while before she started, so we're hoping that would… Well, not affect his decision, just maybe… Steer it in our direction."

And now that laugh again. _Hi hi hi hi. _Not on Claire's behalf, though.

"Mom," Claire says, not in that whiny way that teenage girls tend to say that word, but more correcting. "I'd get into any college I'd want to _without_ a scholarship. You make it sound like I wouldn't get one without your help."

_Hi hi hi. _

"Of course you would, sweetie!" Mom exclaims, Adam has to ask himself how much wine she's had. "But you make it sound like you'd want to work your fingers bloody to get where you want to be. What do you think you are, a little blue-collar?"

_Hi hi hi. _Adam wants to throw his soda can at her head.

Adam walks up to the cupboard and takes out a plate. Sue doesn't notice him until he slams it shut and walks up to the frying pan that's standing on the table.

"Hi, Adam," she says and smiles in a way that shows every single one of her teeth. "I didn't know you were home."

"No, I know," Adam says and smiles politely when he takes a pork chop from the pan. "Mom keeps me tucked away in my room, she just lets me go out if I want my weekly ration of tap water and nutrition crackers."

No one seems to have heard him. Except for Claire, she smiles inwardly into her glass of milk.

"So," Maria says and taps her claw-like fingers against her palm. "How do you like it in high school? Do you feel older than the other kids in your class?"

Adam shrugs and puts some potatoes on his plate.

"Of course. I feel older than every single kid in that school, to be honest. And the teachers. But I guess I'm just thankful mom lets me out of my room during the school days, even if that costs me the water rations for the week."

Mom seems to be inhumanly focused on her pork chop. Maria's face has frozen in a clown-like grimace that might be a smile to her, while the corners of Sue's purple lips have been pulled down and her eyes are wide, she looks like a little kid that's about to cry. Claire, on the other hand, puts her glass down, throws her head back and laughs out loud, so shamelessly that even mom tears her eyes from her food and looks accusingly at her.

"Claire," she says, like it takes every ounce of willpower she has to keep herself from screaming. "What is so funny?"

Claire looks at her mother and rolls her eyes. Like she's actually become a teenager instead of a display object. If only for a second.

"Oh, come on," she giggles and throws her hand out at Adam. "That _was _funny, you have to admit that."

She keeps giggling as Adam walks out the kitchen with his plate, and he grins evilly, along with the genius.

He won again.

**Is it me, or has Adam not changed much over the years? XD Anyway, if you promise to review, there will be PLOT in the next chapter! WAH! **


	5. I'm The Bomb, You're The Fuse

**A/N: Okay, this is actually one of these rare updates I don't have an excuse for being so slow, so I'll just say I'm sorry. Hell (school XD) has started again, and I have to put all my energy on surviving. Anyway, as promised, this chapter has (drum roll) PLOT! Which might be a shock, so just read when you've regained consciousness! **

**5: I'm The Bomb, You're The Fuse**

Lawrence's first love was Barefoot Girl. He doesn't remember where he got the name from, he thinks he heard it in a song when he was sitting with Wendy in a bar sometime, but it doesn't matter. She will always be Barefoot Girl to him, and she is so now more than ever, because over the next few days, she's his only support.

He needs her as desperately now as he did when he was nine, and the only reason he even got up in the morning was that he wanted to see her stepping out of the door of her trailer and start looking for cans around the trashcan in the corner of the lawn.

He needs her now. He needs to tell her everything he thinks about Adam every day for the next few weeks, in the hope that maybe tomorrow, he's going to have released so much of his aggressions that he'll manage to control himself.

But it never works. Lawrence spends hours on end on the hood of the car's wreck in the scrap yard, sometimes with Daniel half asleep in his lap, sometimes with Lou sitting in the front seat behind the windshield they're leaning against, and Lawrence talks and talks and talks, and Wendy listens and nods along. And when Lawrence leaves, he always feels like a giant weight has been lifted from his chest.

And the next day, he goes to school.

And he tries to stay away from Adam. He really does. But it seems like he's not better than him after all.

It's like all Adam has to do to set Lawrence off his existing, too.

It's like Lawrence's temper is a simple tank of gasoline, soiled and insignificant and harmless as itself. And it's been untouched for so long that someone's forgotten to put a lid on it, that it only takes one little spark of a mischievous little match to put it in flames, explode in half-melted shards of dirty metal.

Adam is that match. And he's fully aware of it.

Why else would he do these tiny things that he somehow knows annoy Lawrence so endlessly, why else would he roll his eyes in a way that Lawrence can't ignore when he raises his hand and answers a teacher's question, why else would he grin so mockingly when Lawrence sees his eyes rolling and for some reason cares so much that he gets lost in his words, starts stuttering and quiets down with a blush?

It always begins with something like that. Something stupid that's really nothing next to everything else, like Lou and mom and how Lawrence somehow became the provider of his family. But maybe it's just that; it's those things that are that tank of gasoline, that thing that's been there so long and hurts him so much that he's forgotten that it exists, and his feelings for Adam are that tiny flare from a match, that's really nothing, but still makes things go so incredibly wrong.

Because it always does. That's something Wendy can never fix.

After that lesson where Adam rolls his eyes at whatever Lawrence's said, it's unavoidable. Adam knows it, and Lawrence knows it, too.

Lawrence _will _grab Adam's elbow as soon as they get out of the classroom, and Adam _will _follow without much objections. And then, Lawrence willmost likely throw the first punch, Adam will throw one back, and they'll go on like that until someone sees them and drags them to Mr. Salin's office and leave them there to wallow in shame under that black bug-gaze.

Lawrence explains this development of events to Wendy one of the nights. One of those when they're alone and her black hair looks like it's on fire from the orange evening sun. She just shakes her head, and even though Lawrence has cursed himself for this very development for the past few weeks, he still gets annoyed.

"I don't get it, Lawrence," Wendy says and puts her elbows on her knees. "If you'd let your emotions run the show, you would've taken Lou and Daniel under each arm and taken off to New York long ago. So why the hell now, do you even know that yourself?"

Lawrence scoffs and throws his hand out.

"It's for the same reason you're the only girl over ten in this neighborhood that hasn't started hooking!" he exclaims, just trying to throw something in her face, even though it's with something that she should be ridiculously proud of. "You can't always do what's best for you!"

Wendy throws her head back and laughs. The sun glows on her neck and her legs, the skin that would've been pale if it hadn't been for the thin, grey membrane of street dust that covered it.

He's really glad she hasn't started prostituting herself. Then she would've had so many costumers, she wouldn't have any time for him anymore.

"I don't start hooking because the only things I have now days are you and me!" Wendy says, more amused than annoyed, and puts her hand on the cover of the car they're sitting on. "Oh, and this car. Either way, if I didn't even have myself anymore, I'd just have you and this car, and that wouldn't be fun for any of us. But you already knew that, and this is about you, so just answer the question, please."

Lawrence just looks at her for a second. When he realizes that she won't let this go, he looks up into the oily sky. Like the answer is hidden there.

Wendy wants him to get out of here as much as he does. And she doesn't even expect him to take her with him.

She just wants the best for him.

Maybe that's why he loves her so much. Because she's the only one who wants that.

And maybe he hates Adam so much because he represents the anchor around his ankle, mom's accusing glances and the things he's actually going to miss. If he ever gets a chance to miss them.

"He's everything I pretend not to be," Lawrence says and looks at Wendy again.

That's all he has to say. Wendy understands, he knows that just by looking at the way her hands fall down along the sides of her knees, the way her eyebrows relax.

"Then you should make sure that you actually becomes different from him for real," Wendy says in a tone that makes it impossible for Lawrence to look at the oily sky again.

Her eyes are so sad. Sadder and more beautiful than the sky.

"Lawrence," Wendy goes on, softer now, but her eyes are the same. "If you don't get out of this place when you're finished with school, I'm going to start hooking. You understand that, don't you?"

Lawrence nods.

"And if your pretty blue eyes ever change," Wendy goes on, "I'm going to find that Adam kid and kill him. And you understand that, too, right?"

Lawrence nods again. And he can't help but smiling, even though it's really not funny at all.

He's all that she's got, he knows that. She doesn't even have a mom to hate or siblings to take care of, or a trailer that has mudguards she can sand down her nails on. Lawrence is all she has, and if he ever loses hope, he won't be a symbol of freedom to her anymore.

And then Wendy might as well start hooking. Because there will be nothing left for her.

So when Lawrence and her stand up from the car's hood and hug each other goodbye, Lawrence makes sure that his pretty blue eyes don't look any different than usual.

Wendy's future will be just as amazing as Lou's. He's going to make sure of that.

xxxxxxxxxxx

"Well, if it isn't the Gerber baby himself," Adam says merrily when he passes Lawrence the next morning.

"Funny," Lawrence says, making sure that the despise is dripping like acid from his words, but it doesn't seem to work. Adam just keeps walking by him, adjusts the backpack on his shoulder so the pins on the shoulder strap rattle.

Lawrence feels that tiny sparkle from the match come dangerously close to the tank of gasoline, but he quickly calms down.

He will be calm today. For Lou, for Daniel and for Wendy. And himself, he should be able to fit in there. Somewhere.

And if not, the rest should be enough reason to get through the rest of the year without problems.

Well, he gets through the rest of the day, that's a start. Sure, it takes up so much of his energy that he doesn't learn much, anyway, but who cares. He won't get expelled, that's the only real goal he has for this semester.

And of course, Adam does everything in his power to keep him from achieving that goal, but it's nothing Lawrence can't handle. It's surprisingly easy to just magically develop a tunnel vision when he looks at his teacher so he won't see Adam's rolling eyes, and momentarily get deaf when he hears the sarcastic mutter when he gets out of the classroom. He can do it. He's cool.

Of course, the match gets so teasingly close to the gasoline every time he has to bring out that deafness, so incredibly close that he feels it heating up the fumes that surround the tank and slide subtly down on it, like a hot, red, slip-n-slide, and he knows that it's going to explode any second, any second, but it doesn't.

And sure, there's this one time when he can't stand it, but that can be solved by just dragging Adam into the school's bathroom, wrestle for a little bit, and then get out. And sure, Adam gets a bloody nose, but he doesn't care, and he shoves Lawrence's head into the edge of one of the sinks so hard that he gets a bump in his forehead that throbs and burns and spins everything around, but that's okay, Lawrence can just wipe away the blood, cover it with his bangs and walk outside, try to keep a steady course.

It doesn't matter, because the gasoline doesn't explode.

It doesn't.

But it does start boiling, it burns the inside of his skin. And when Lawrence finally opens the front door on the school and steps out into safety, it's with a feeling of accomplishment, it feels like such a victory that he got through this day.

And that's why the match gets so close when he hears Adam's voice behind him.

"Off to your palace, pretty boy?"

Lawrence keeps walking. The gasoline is boiling so much that it's sputtering out of the tank, shakes back and forth on the ground, but that's okay. He's cool.

"What, you won't even talk to me?"

Adam runs up next to him. For the love of God…

"Leave me alone."

"Whoa, look who reached into his shorts and found a pair," Adam says and runs up next to Lawrence. "Seriously, you can't just ignore me like this, I get worried! Have you messed up so many suits that you actually have to pay for the damn things yourself now?"

Lawrence has to look at him. That malicious grin, the ruffled hair. The worn Ramones-t-shirt.

The way that Adam so obviously doesn't have to care.

And then he looks at his own fucking suit that he was only one step away from hooking to afford.

"Look," Lawrence says, and the gasoline is so hot right now, it's burning. "I don't know what the _fuck _your problem is with me, but to be honest, I don't care. And you can't care so damn much that you can't find someone else's ass to run up, so why don't you just hop along and do that, okay?"

Adam's smile fades away bit by bit while Lawrence is talking. But that teasing glint in his eyes doesn't, because he knows as well as Lawrence that there's nothing he can't say that Adam doesn't have a good comeback to.

And that comeback won't be true. That's what annoys him.

"Gee, I don't know, Larry," Adam says softly. "Maybe it's because you act like I send your whole fucking future slipping by pissing you off from time to time, even though there's no goddamn principal in America that wouldn't take you in if you batted your pretty eyelashes and showed them daddy's business card. But who knows, maybe this place has better lunch."

He starts walking away. Lawrence's fingers are twitching, the gasoline is boiling and burning and it explodes, explodes in a ball of fire that could kill anyone and anything and is still completely useless, completely useless because no one will ever notice it. No one would ever be threatened by a stupid little tank of gasoline or a fucking erupting volcano if it's in the mind of someone like him.

No one will ever take it seriously, no matter how dangerous it is. Because Lawrence is just a poor little kid from the slum that lives in a trailer and tries to be something different to give some kind of redemption to the ones he loves, and he will never be what Adam thinks he is, so it doesn't matter what he does.

He's recycled cans all summer to buy a suit. Just to cover up the Ramones-t-shirt he would wear if he showed who he really was.

And Lawrence can't stand that.

So in another one of his useless little poor boy-tantrums, he picks up all the gravel that can fit into his hand and throws it after Adam, it clinks against the pins on his backpack and hits Adam on the head so he has to turn around. Good. _Good. _

Lawrence won't be ignored. He went to this school because he won't be ignored. And he won't let someone like _Adam _change that.

"I don't even _have _a fucking dad!" Lawrence explodes when Adam turns around. "I barely have a _mom, _for fuck's sake, she had me because one of her fucking costumers didn't have a goddamned condom and she couldn't afford an abortion! Because my mom's a fucking _whore, _and not even in that loving and adorable way that they're made up in Oliver Twist or all that crap, she lies in her fucking bed all day and smokes until my little sister starts wailing and I take her pack away, okay? Hell, why did you even _think _I was so damn rich, because of this suit? I bought it in the goddamned supermarket, it cost fifty bucks, but I still had to save every fucking penny for the whole summer to get it! Are you happy now, Adam, are you happy to know that I have twelve bucks to my name and that's supposed to be enough for the four people that have it, too?!"

And then those tears, those _fucking _tears, they're burning and pushing behind his eyes, but he won't let them fall. Not for someone like Adam.

Not for someone who's everything he's running from.

Lawrence doesn't cry. He has a lot of reasons to, but he never cries. Doesn't allow himself. He has other people to care about, other tears to dry before he can deal with his own.

So many people he has to fix. So many lives to save.

And suddenly, Adam's made him realize how much he hates it.

Lawrence thought Adam would make some acidic remark about how it's a nice try and that his daddy probably uses the same methods when he gets sick of fucking people to get his way, but he doesn't. Adam face is blank, or maybe Lawrence just thinks so because he hasn't seen him this serious before. But either way, he slowly walks up to Lawrence with his hands in his pocket, scans over him.

Sees that it isn't an act. It's more sincere than Lawrence has been with anyone for a long time.

"How's the head?" Adam asks after a few quiet seconds.

Lawrence looks at him. The tears calm down, and they still haven't fallen.

"What?"

"Your head," Adam says, with that spark back in his gaze, and nods against Lawrence's forehead. "It's bleeding again. Maybe you should think twice about throwing tantrums when you have an open wound on your pretty face?"

Lawrence puts his hand over the place on his forehead that's still throbbing and spinning. His hand is sticky when he takes it down again, and he sees something red in the corner of his eye. His blood must've pumped in a rate that his bangs couldn't control.

"Come on," Adam says and throws his arm out against the sidewalk. "We'll go to my place, I'll patch you up."

Lawrence feels his tears disappearing, even though they didn't really show at all. They still draw back like the tide from behind his eyes, back into that place he's been hiding them for all his life, and he nods with a small smile.

"Okay."

He walks next to Adam down the sidewalk. He doesn't say anything, and Lawrence doesn't, either.

He's still in shock. Having someone else taking care of his open wounds is still something he has to get used to.

**PLOT! I told you! :) Well, since this is completely new for me, I'd appreciate it if you reviewed… And I'll read that when I regain consciousness after this crush and blow, too! **


	6. Getting Even

**A/N: CHRIST, I'****ve missed this thing! Once you've gotten used to writing about Adam and Lawrence being teenage rebellious in an incredibly naïve way, you wonder how you ever did without it… Anyway, as you know, Adam and Lawrence made up in the last chapter, and since I'm not very good at letting them be happy… Well. ;)**

**6: Getting Even**

When Adam was younger, he had this idea that his family wasn't his real family.

Sure, they looked just like him and they had the same last name and he called his mom 'mom' for some reason, but they weren't his family. They couldn't be.

He had no idea what a family was, since he'd never been in one. But he knew they weren't it.

And even though Adam's grown up now, he's still never really been able to let go of that idea. It gives him some comfort to know that sooner or later he's going to either get out of here, or his real family's going to come and do that for him.

And since he won't technically bring Lawrence home to see his real family, he shouldn't be this nervous about it. And even if he would, it's not like Lawrence's approval is very important to him. Hell, it's pretty much screwed anyway, since the nicest thing Adam's done to Lawrence this far is to offer to clean up the wound he gave him when he jammed his head into a sink.

So Adam really doesn't get why his hands are shaking so much that he has to hide them in his pockets when the transition is made and they enter that neighborhood where the sidewalks are clean and flowerpots hang from the windows.

Lawrence doesn't really seem to note the flowerpots, the way Adam and his Ramones-t-shirt stands out from the buildings behind them. Of course he thinks that they'll just walk through this fancy street and enter the block he really lives in. Where the trashcans are emptied, the smoke from the whores' cigarettes lace the air.

Adam feels a soft stab in his chest at that thought.

He'd rather bring Lawrence to a place like that. But as it is, he now has to walk up to the door to the house that, despite what he tries to tell himself, _is _his, unlock the door and ignore the way Lawrence stops on the doorstep and looks around like he just woke up from a dream.

Adam turns around impatiently while he's kicking off his shoes.

"Are you coming in, or what?"

Lawrence tears his gaze from the golden-framed mirror on the hallway wall. Adam really wishes he could stop looking so goddamn surprised.

"You don't… _Live _here, do you?" Lawrence says after another few seconds, and Adam wants to punch him in the face even more.

"I know you don't think much of me," Adam says with struggling calm, "but I don't burgle places. Especially not just to get a damn band-aid for _you _of all people. Now, get in here already."

Lawrence just stares at him for a few seconds. But he does step in, in a way like he's not sure where he's allowed to put his feet, and keeps looking around so curiously that he almost falls over while he's taking off his shoes.

Adam is thankful to get a reason to turn around when they start walking down the hall.

Lawrence shouldn't have held that damn speech for him earlier. He liked it more the way it was before, when he had absolutely no sympathy for him since Lawrence was everything he hated. He was, in his head, and that was enough.

But whatever liking he'd worked up for him before fades away bit by bit when Adam hears Lawrence's steps behind him. Because he can almost _feel_ his gaze turning around the walls while they're walking, how they look at the paintings and the carpets and the expensive wood in the doorframes. And how they admire it all, because it all screams the same words: _Look how rich we are!_

_Would you like to live here? _Adam thinks darkly when he enters the kitchen with Lawrence behind him. _Would you like to spend every day with my parents and my sister and my _fucking _maids? You can, trust me, just take my place. They won't notice the difference. _

_And even if they do, you really think they'll miss me? Don't you think they'd just sigh with relief when they realized what a goodie-goodie son they got for some reason? _

Adam looks around in the kitchen, ignores Lawrence as much as he can and tries not to answer the question he asked him in his head.

Lawrence follows every move Adam makes, like he still doesn't get how he can be so casual, how he can move between these walls like it was his home.

Because of course Adam can't live here. Not the ruffled little punk kid that skips the classes and cheats on the tests.

Of course not.

"Seriously," Lawrence says after Adam's climbed onto the counter and rummaged around on top of the fridge. "Do you live here?"

Adam sighs and drops his head.

"Yes, Lawrence, I do," he says politely and opens a breadbox next to him on the countertop. "You spot a first aid-kit somewhere?"

He wants Lawrence to answer quickly. Because he already hear her footsteps in the hall.

"Adam, do you…" Claire indeed says a few seconds later when she enters the kitchen, and Adam stares intently into the breadbox just to avoid watching her stupid blue eyes widen when she sees Lawrence. "Oh... Hi."

"Hi," Lawrence answers nervously.

"Claire, Lawrence, Lawrence, Claire," Adam says and takes a few steps on the counter to get a better view. "Claire, where's the first aid-kit?"

"I don't know," Claire says. "Ask Mary. What the hell are you doing up there, by the way?"

"I'm looking for the fucking first aid-kit," Adam hisses.

He still won't look at her. He hates her more than ever right now, hates the way Lawrence looks at her.

Hates how he knows just from being introduced to her that she's so much better than him.

Adam jumps down from the counter, and he feels Lawrence's eyes drinking in the sight of Claire like it was his own body being scanned while he walks into the bathroom on the other side of the hall, and actually sees the first aid-kit in its plastic container on the wall. He takes it, walks into the kitchen again to get Lawrence, even though whatever guilt he felt for that damn wound on his head is fading away rapidly.

"Lawrence?" Adam interrupts politely, and Lawrence cuts off whatever goddamn thing he was saying to Claire and looks at him. "Would you like to go to my room or quit wasting time and just fuck my little sister right away?"

Lawrence's face goes scarlet, another drop of blood seeps out of the angrily open cut on his head. Adam loves it, all of him, not just the evil genius, and he loves it even more when he sees Claire's rolling of her eyes before she hides her face in the fridge.

Adam doesn't even like Lawrence. But no way he'll let Claire have him. No way.

They run into Mary on the way to Adam's room, she looks just as surprised as Claire when she sees Adam's brought someone home. Adam does his best to ignore her, but she looks way too happy for him for even him to get a rush out of beating it down.

"Hi, Mr… Adam," she says merrily.

She knows the only rule he has for her is that she can't call him 'Mr. Faulkner.'

Mary's smile gets even wider when it's turned to Lawrence. Adam sighs and actually tries to not be too loud about it. The meaning of it is obvious anyway.

"Hello, I'm Mary."

Lawrence sends a quick glance to Adam, obviously asking what she's doing in his house, since she's too young to be his mother and his sister would never call him Mr., even by accident, but still smiles back at Mary, in that _polite _way, oh, how Adam wants to smack it out of his face.

"Hi," he says. "I'm Lawrence."

"Lawrence," Mary repeats, the constant need to please people is like a soft layer on her voice. "Well, let me know if you need anything."

"Thank you."

Adam starts walking before he hears Mary's silent feet moving away.

He wishes he'd never brought Lawrence here. He wishes they'd stayed enemies, because he'd rather get into a fight every day than having someone seeing who he is, how he can't possibly love himself the way he pretends since he's everything he hates.

But he still opens the door to his room, walks inside and doesn't slam it in Lawrence's face, like he would on anyone else. He hears the steps following him inside, and he turns around to look at Lawrence and sees his eyes wandering over Adam's room.

Adam's room. He hates that, too.

He wishes he could chop the legs off his king sized-bed off just to have something to smack Lawrence in the face with. But instead, he tears the first aid-kit open, for some reason, and points to the bed.

"Sit."

Lawrence sits down straight away. Adam's too angry to make a remark about what a pussy he is, so he just picks up a cotton ball, his fingers are stiff and jittery when he unscrews the cork on the bottle of disinfectant. Lawrence follows every move he makes, he seems to think about what to say.

"So your family's rich?"

It almost sounds innocent. But Adam still tips the bottle over the cotton ball so violently that the alcohol drips over his hand, the smell rises to his nose.

God, he'd give the world for a beer right now. A bottle of whiskey that he'd buy from a pusher in those neighborhoods where everyone thought he was a hooker, the burning liquid that tasted of rebellion, mm, he'd give the world for that…

Adam tries to keep his mind on that when he walks up to Lawrence, kneels down next to him and puts the cotton ball to his forehead. Lawrence cringes, and Adam feels a little better.

Unfortunately, Lawrence doesn't settle for that. Maybe because Adam hasn't answered him.

"Or… Are you in, like, foster care?"

Adam sighs, without bothering to be quiet this time, to really signal his annoyance, and keeps cleaning Lawrence's wounds, almost mechanically.

"Nope," comes his clipped answer, and Lawrence nods.

"So that girl we met outside… She's your maid?"

"My family's, not mine," Adam says, and the bitterness in his tone is obvious, Lawrence feels it in his movements. "I don't use her. But don't worry, she's very obedient, she'd gladly to a threesome with Claire and you if you asked her."

He feels Lawrence's gaze darken when it hits his face, but Adam doesn't care. He really doesn't care.

Not even the evil genius enjoys it. Because it can't even be heard through the grey ashes of pointless frustration. The things he'd want to change that Lawrence just points out.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Lawrence sputters out, his words are glowing angrily. "You think you've got a bad deal?! This is _nothing! _For God's sake, you're a rich little boy who's got a problem with his maid! You've got money, you've got roof over your head and an education that you didn't have to recycle cans to get! Do you have any idea how much _I'd…"_

He silences down abruptly, like someone's slammed a door on him.

Lawrence was so close to saying it.

_Do you have any idea how much I'd give to be you? _

Adam doesn't. Lawrence sees in his eyes how wrong he really is, how Adam has every reason to hate his family, but he doesn't care, either. He wants to piss Adam off, wants him to say something mean so Lawrence can storm out, go back to his trailer and to Lou, forget about this place.

Forget what Adam has even though he doesn't even want it.

What Adam has and what Lawrence never got.

Adam just stares at Lawrence, for the first time since they got here, and sure, Lawrence's eyes were dark before, but now, Adam's crystal eye go black, merciless. Onyx.

"You want this?" Adam bites back, every syllable is sharp and piercing, like little shards of stone, onyx stone. "Take it. Seriously. Put on my t-shirt, play Sex Pistols really loud every night and trust me, they won't notice the difference. It might make it a little harder to fuck Claire, but at this point, there's nothing too horrible for me to do according to them, they won't be surprised."

Adam stands up, and now it's his memories that are stirred up, him who's so furiously nostalgic that he has to pick up gravel and throw it because there's nothing else he can do, only his gravel is words, small and hard, and they hit, deep, Lawrence can't ignore them.

"You keep whining that your mom's a hooker!" Adam says, louder now, throws his arm out. "Yeah, well, what about that little sister you were yapping away about? She loves you, doesn't she? And she'd notice if you went away? And when you come home now, she won't hide you away in your room because you're such a fucking embarrassment?"

His pale face is red, his hand gestures ragingly, it's where his evil genius is right now and it's supposed to take his focus off the stinging in his eyes, the blackness in his heart that no evil genius in the world can make better.

Adam thought things would get better. He had years when he was convinced that his real family would come and take him away, wash away the Faulkner-stamp in his forehead that had cursed him all this time.

But that family never came. All Adam gets is a teenage boy with bloody bangs over the cut in his forehead that sits on his bed and tries not to gape.

Lawrence doesn't answer. He can barely look at Adam anymore, and when his gaze finally falls onto the floor, Adam chuckles bitterly and walks up to his record player.

"You're such a whiny little son of a bitch, you know that?" he says venomously and pretends to check which record is on.

Lawrence still doesn't answer. Adam feels the evil genius returning. It makes him more relieved than words can describe.

"Just get the hell out of here, Lawrence."

The words sounds so grave. Like they were written on a tombstone.

And they work. Adam hears the door closing just a few moments later. And he's happy, of course. Happy and revolting.

And maybe a little lonely. He loves his evil genius, but it's not much of a company.

So Adam turns the record on, raises the volume higher and higher and higher until the music blocks out his mind and he doesn't have to think, until Johnny Rotten becomes his friend and he doesn't need any other ones.

_Don't know what I want but _

_I know how to get it_

_I wanna destroy the passer by cos I_

_I wanna be anarchy_

_No dog's body… _

**Yup, I officially can't have them getting along for more than one chapter. Sorry, but that's me! XD Anyway, despite how evil I am, maybe you can review to make me happy? **


	7. A Reached Out Hand

**A/N: Ladies and gentlemen, (although, it's probably mostly ladies XD) I'd like to present a chapter that's very near and dear to my heart: It's the first thing I've written after the only case of writer's block I've had in years! Adam and Lawrence got me through it! Yay for that! In fact, I'm going to thank them by actually allow them to get along for another whole chapter… **

**7: A Reached Out Hand**

When Adam complains too much about his life, his mother usually says, and her voice always gets a little sharper edge, that he doesn't know how she grew up.

Adam knows. He knows exactly how she grew up.

He knows what parts of the town she lived in. He knows what she had to do to survive. He knows all of that.

But that doesn't matter. He keeps complaining, and it's not just because he's whiny. It's for the exact same reason as he drove Lawrence out just now.

He'd rather live on the street. He'd rather live in a dumpster. He'd rather be a Jew and live in fucking Germany during World War II.

Anything. Anything is better than here.

xxxxxxxxxxx

The rage, the boiling, burning, a giant beast that's inhabited his body but doesn't fit into it, pressing against his skin, about to explode.

Lawrence is so angry. He's angry in that way he gets more and more over the years, and when he does, he always gets so scared of himself.

He has too many things to take care of to go home like this.

But that's Adam's fault, too. Everything's Adam's fault. He's furious, and that's Adam's fault. If he goes home right now, it's either mom, or Lou's pleading, blue eyes that'll pay the price, and that's Adam's fault, too.

_Goddamn Adam. Fucking goddamn Adam. _

Lawrence walks faster just to release some of his adrenaline before he gets back home.

Fucking Adam. Fucking Adam who gets all that money. Fucking Adam who doesn't even get how lucky he is.

Fucking Adam, _fucking goddamn fucking stupid Adam _who walks around in that _fucking _Sex Pistols-t-shirt and doesn't even show up for half of the classes that Lawrence recycled cans all summer just to get into! Fuck him, _fuck him… _

Lawrence thought he'd calm down if he walked really fast, but he's wrong. His childish anger increases with every step he takes. He gets home in about half the time it took him and Adam to get to his place.

And Lawrence still hasn't gotten why he's really angry.

Not even when he opens the door to the trailer and sees the faces of the people he has to care about in a way that's not healthy for anyone, and do so for the rest of his life whether he likes it or not, does he realize that he'd give the world to care as little as Adam did.

A cloud of warm air, thick and smelly and sticking to his face, hits Lawrence when he walks through the door. Already there does his mood drop a little further, because he knows what he's going to see before he even looks around.

He'd know it by his gut if it'd never happened before. But as it is, he's seen it so many times.

The air is heavy with cigarette smoke, Lawrence sees it swirling in the lonely ray of light streaming through the window. He can almost taste the smell of evaporated beer, dried sweat, a door that no one's opened since he left for school.

Fucking Adam. And fucking mom. Fuck her.

Lawrence feels nails drawing blood from his palm.

_Fuck her. Fuck her. _

"Mom."

He can't even call it out. The anger is a stone on his vocal chords, a weight on his limbs.

And of course she doesn't wake up. Of course she doesn't even register the word 'mom.'

Real moms listen to nothing but that word. Real moms have trained themselves into light sleepers, because if their kids need something, they're going to have to get up quickly, they have to be ready to be there for them, give them everything, or just themselves, because that's enough.

This woman gave birth to Lawrence. To Lou, to Daniel.

But the one hand that sticks out from under her covers is not a mother.

Lawrence walks up to Daniel's crib. He's lying in it, of course, but Lawrence's heart retracts in a sudden, sharp ache when he sees that Lou is lying in it, too, her bony arms are wrapped around his neck. Like he's her teddy bear.

Like she has to sleep here, because he's the only comfort she's got.

Lawrence reaches into the crib. Tries to ignore the pressure in his tear ducts.

"Lou," he says softly and touches her cheek. "Lou, wake up."

Lou doesn't react at first. Then, one of her eyes open to a blue slit, before she whines something and buries her face in Daniel's cheek. Lawrence smiles through his sorrow.

"It's okay. You can sleep. I just wanted to tell you that I'm home now."

"Okay," Lou mumbles, and her blue slits close down again.

Lawrence pauses. But he has to ask.

"Did mommy make you anything to eat today?"

Lou yawns. Daniel rolls over in his sleep and reaches his tiny hand out, places it on Lou's shoulder.

His hand is just as scrawny as hers.

"No, she didn't want to," Lou slurs and presses Daniel closer. "But we went out when one of those guys came to see mommy, then we found a hot dog next to a dumpster. We split it, Daniel got the biggest part."

Lawrence feels something warm and burning rising in his throat.

"That's really sweet of you, Lou," he says softly. "But I'm going to let you sleep now."

She hasn't listened to his permission, Lou is asleep before Lawrence even touches her cheek one last time and then straighten up.

_Fuck her. Fuck her. _

Lawrence feels it in every fiber of his body.

He hates her. He hates her for never becoming a mother.

Almost as much as he hates her for not even having the energy to pretend.

Yes. Lawrence hates her. But he swallows it, he stands there, opens and closes his fists a few times before he's calmed down enough to take a few deep breaths and deal with the situation in a responsible way.

That's what he does. Because he's Lawrence. Lawrence Gordon. And Lawrence Gordon doesn't explode, no matter how close the match get to the tank of gasoline.

Lawrence Gordon takes a few deep breaths, takes care of everything, plays the part of the caretaker and the provider, all those parts no one's ever played in his family and that he has to play to keep them alive.

Even though the steel that holds the gasoline from the match gets thinner every day.

It's almost as thin as his skin by now.

Lawrence opens the door again, leans out. Pretends not to notice that it tastes better out here, that he'd save himself so much trouble if he closed the door behind him and never opened again.

"Wendy!" he calls out.

He knows she's near. Wendy never goes out of hearing distance when Lawrence is away.

Not because he asked her to, but she always sneaks around the trailer, listen carefully. She doesn't go inside if it gets too noisy. Or too quiet.

"Wendy!" Lawrence yells again when she still hasn't showed up. "Would you come here a minute?"

It takes another couple of seconds before Wendy's crow's nest of a hair sticks out from behind the corner. They say hi, and Lawrence hugs her in a way he hopes seems less desperate than he feels, but she knew something is wrong the second she heard his voice. He should've gotten that by now.

"Are they okay?" Wendy asks, and before he can answer, she excuses herself in such a remorseful way that Lawrence's heart aches for her, too. "Should I've checked up on them? I thought about it, but Lou always sleeps this time of day, anyway, so I figured that…"

"Wendy," Lawrence cuts her off softly.

If she only knew how much he owes her.

Wendy shuts up immediately, even though the self-loath doesn't leave her expression. Lawrence puts a hand on her shoulder.

"They're sleeping because mom hasn't given them anything to eat today," Lawrence says, tries to pretend like he actually has the ability to be calm about all this. "But we do have some food, it's just she who's… Would you just wake them up and give them something from the fridge? I have to go and… Talk to someone. Okay?"

Wendy nods.

"Okay."

"Thanks."

"Who are you going to talk to?"

Deep breath. He shouldn't be ashamed.

"Adam."

Wendy's big, brown, Manga-eyes get smaller when she furrows her brows.

"Adam?"

Lawrence waves her hand dismissively.

"I'll tell you when I get back. It's a long story."

Wendy nods. Slowly. She's used to believing everything he says, but her eyebrows don't straighten out.

"Okay. See you later, then."

Lawrence nods, too. He squeezes her shoulder one last time before he walks away, with almost as quick steps as before, but more because of fear than of anger.

The feeling of bones and skin and nothing else in Wendy's shoulder has left a black print on his hand.

There are so many slim shoulders he has to save.

xxxxxxxxxxx

It takes Lawrence a while to find Adam's house again. They all look the same in this part of town.

Polished brass numbers on the doors. Fallen pedals from chestnut flowers dancing across the porches. And the people around them giving Lawrence weird looks.

For a second, Lawrence actually understands why Adam is so angry. How devastating the boredom must be after a while. But then he remembers that all the houses in Lawrence's neighborhood look the same, too, since they barely qualify as houses.

The same dusty tin roofs. The same cracks in the hallway doors.

_Maybe every place is the same? _Lawrence thinks and steps up on the porch he thinks is Adam's. _Maybe we're all split up in groups, and that gets too much for everyone after a while? _

But he shrugs that thought off as soon as he knocks on the door.

He'd rather get sick of college than at parenting his mother.

Mary opens the door almost straight away. Lawrence smiles politely and asks if he can see Adam. She nods and leads him through the halls to Adam's room, and Lawrence tries to talk to her like he'd talk to Wendy on the way over there.

He has to bring her down to his level somehow. He feels worthless enough in here as it is.

Lawrence doesn't even knock on Adam's door before he opens it, slams it shut behind him. Adam startles, he's been lying on his bed with his feet on the pillow and his head by the foot, since if there's anything he can do to prove that he doesn't belong in this world, he will. Johnny Rotten's jagged shrieking presses against the windowpanes, and Lawrence walks straight up to the CD-player and turns it off. Turns to Adam, his fists clenched, the wound in his forehead throbs with his heartbeat.

"Give me money."

Adam still doesn't seem to comprehend that Lawrence has voluntarily showed up at his house. His mouth is slightly opened, and eyes are someplace else.

"Excuse me?" he says, almost politely, after a few seconds of silence.

Lawrence pretends not to hear the sarcasm in his voice.

"Give me your money. You don't want them, and I do. I _need_ them, in fact. Give them to me."

Adam sighs, liftss his eyebrows briefly. His slim shoulders rise and fall, and Lawrence waits.

"Okay."

Lawrence exhales.

"Good. Thanks."

He's not going to show his gratitude. They don't have that kind of relationship. Hell, it bothers him that they have one at all.

Adam gets off his bed and walks up to a jar standing on a shelf next to his window. Lawrence hears the crisp rustling, and he gets happier than he's been in a long, long time.

"You know this isn't going to make you happy, right?" Adam says before he turns around.

He didn't pick a very good time to say it. When Lawrence sees the bills in his hand, they seem to be the key to his salvation, and when Adam notices that, he sighs again.

"Lawrence," he says, and Lawrence forces himself to look at him. "Do you know that?"

Lawrence scoffs and looks down on his shoes.

His worn, leaking, two-sizes-too-small-shoes.

"Don't tell me you've bought that," he says and looks up again. "Seriously. That's communist bullshit, the whole 'poor people are happy, too'-thing, it's just the politicians' way to excuse that there still are people who live in car wrecks and recycle cans to get into high school. People aren't happy if they live hand to mouth, or when their little sisters look like one of those native African kids on 'Save the Children'-posters. It would be nice if they were, but they're not. Now, please give me the money."

Adam holds out the bills, but when Lawrence reaches for them with trembling fingers that he tries to ignore, Adam yanks them away again, fixes Lawrence with his gaze.

He looks so serious. Not even angry for a change.

"Lawrence, this is two-hundred bucks," Adam says, in an almost light-hearted way. "It'll buy your family food for a week. It won't get your mom to stop turning tricks."

Lawrence takes a step closer to him. But he's not angry right now, either.

He's excited, euphoric, devastated and split open like a raw wound, his emotions are the blood. Anger doesn't fit in him right now.

"Right now, I just want to buy food for my little sister," barely above a whisper. "So please, just give me the money."

Adam holds out the bills, and Lawrence takes them. He might even catch the hint of a smile before he turns around and starts to leave.

Lou's begging eyes are staring at him. They're carved into the door in front of him.

And Adam is left in his room, sits down on his bed, and his smile grows bigger when he realizes that he's both pissed his parents off, and might not come home with a busted lip tomorrow. Another day's work.

**AW! They didn't beat each other up! Now, that's personal development on a high level! ;) Anyway, please review! **


	8. Acceptance Is The Final Stage

**A/N: Why, hello there… Remember how I was in such a good mood when I wrote the last chapter that I allowed Lawrence to get along? Well, I'm never in a good mood in school weeks, but it seems like this is your lucky day… Unless you, like me, get a weird rush from reading about Adam and Lawrence fighting. ;) **

**8: Acceptance Is The Final Stage**

Adam was right. Two hundred bucks is enough to buy his family food for a week. And that makes Lawrence so senselessly happy that he doesn't even care that Adam is his sworn enemy and that he doesn't want to be in debt to him.

Right now, all he can focus on is Lou's expression when he gives her an ice cream.

She's had that once before. On her birthday.

And Daniel's sleepy eyes where the joy breaks through the mist of tiredness. He sleeps too much…

"Doesn't it bother you?" Wendy asks one night when they take a walk around the neighborhood and Lou's fallen asleep on Lawrence's shoulder.

Lawrence shrugs, since he already knows what she means.

"Not really." Then adds, with a smile: "I've never had that incredibly amount of pride you think I have. I got rid of that long ago."

Wendy raises her eyebrows halfheartedly. Lawrence looks past the worn rim of her jeans. She only has one pair, and two years ago, when she discovered they were about four sizes too small, she and Lawrence found a stationary store fifteen blocks away, begged and pleaded with the cashier until she let them borrow a pair of the scissors, and then cut the worn jean's legs off. They were shorts now, her legs almost got blue in the winter, but what else could they do?

How could Wendy even hope for real jeans? And how could Lawrence even try to convince himself that he had any dignity left?

"If I were you, for example, I'd be turning tricks," Lawrence mumbles, but immediately regrets it when feels Lou's thin arm wrapping around his neck.

Wendy chuckles.

"I don't think you would. You could be mugging people right now, you know."

She stops next to a bench and sits down, and Lawrence looks back.

They've been walking for almost an hour and a half, and the second he realizes that, that immediate cold feeling of _goddamn it he's alone with her how could I_ pierces throughhis stomach. But when he looks back down at Wendy, her dirty hair and the white marks on her fingernails, he grows even more worried, but in a different way, and sits down next to her.

"You recycled cans to get into high school," Wendy goes on. "I actually think your morals are the last thing you have left."

Lawrence strokes Lou's hair.

"I have Lou and Daniel," he says, pauses before he has to add: "And I have you."

Wendy smiles meekly, her eyes drop to the ground.

"Another burden, you mean."

"In case you haven't noticed, I happen to like burdens," Lawrence says with a smile at the corner of his lips, and Wendy laughs in that way that always makes him wonder how she can even do it.

"Yeah, I've noticed," she says when she's quieted down.

Pause. Wendy looks at Lou sleeping in his arms.

"Can I hold her for a second?" she asks.

Lawrence hands Lou over, she doesn't even wake up. She doesn't get much sleep, so when she does, she sleeps like a log, and doesn't wake up until the hunger gets too much. Or mom has a client.

Wendy carries Lou all the way home and tries to talk about other things, like that she wonders where her mom is or she asks him about school, since she sees that those thoughts are on Lawrence's mind, and she'll do anything to keep that from happening to him.

xxxxxxxxxxx

When Lawrence enters to school the next day, the constant chill in his stomach that's almost disappeared during the course of the past few days is back.

The weeks that Adam predicted are up, he only has ten bucks left since today's breakfast. And in Lawrence's world, the doom's day has come and the trumpets sound and he's completely and utterly _fucked, _since he can't handle another day of struggling with both the school and the guilt and the struggle itself, but he still won't ask Adam for more money. No way.

Lawrence has thrown his pride away long time ago. You swallow your pride if it's the only thing left to eat. But with Adam, it's not even about pride, it's about something else. He just hasn't figured out about what yet.

Lawrence walks through the gate of the school. In the hallway, when he sees Adam's leather jacket like a plump of ink in the midst of all the grey school uniforms, he consciously slows down. Unfortunately, Adam seems to have some weird kind of radar on his back, or it's just hard not to feel the gaze of someone trying not to stare at you, because he stops in the middle of the stairs and turns around. Lawrence stops, too, so it's impossible to pretend like he was just walking to class, and eventually, he's just standing there, feels a blush creep up his neck and curses himself because he couldn't even pretend like all his willpower wasn't focused on not walking up to him straight away.

For a second, Adam just looks at him with that usual, vigilant indifference. Then he walks down the stairs, until he's just one step above Lawrence, and thus, almost just as tall. Their bubble is silent, despite the chatter around them.

"Hey, man," Adam says after a while.

Lawrence nods casually.

"Hey."

Adam keeps him fixed with his gaze for a moment, until he sighs, almost dejectedly, and takes a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket.

"I'm going to take a smoke," he says with no effort at all to keep his voice down. "I assume you're going to take your George Michael-haircut and run off to class. But we should probably have a talk at lunch, right?"

Lawrence opens his mouth to reply, but he realizes quickly that he doesn't know what to say. He really has no idea what Adam and him would have to talk about, and that's not even something he says just because he doesn't want to talk to him.

Or, that's not true. He knows.

Adam's given him money, and he just wouldn't be himself if he didn't expect anything in return. He knew that on some level, but he didn't want to believe it. Or he didn't have the energy. Too much has happened.

The question is if it'll ever end.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Lawrence walks out of the school at the end of the day, and then he hasn't seen Adam in a while. But then again, Adam's always been the mysterious phantom of the classes, he sort of comes and goes when he feels like it, and when he comes back inside, he always reeks of tobacco, and the teacher makes some dry remark about how he looks and Adam grins evilly.

Adam isn't smoking now, though. He's sitting on one of the benches on the far end of the schoolyard, his foot resting on a trashcan in front of him. He looks so confident and so uncomfortable in his skin at the same time, and Lawrence finds himself staring at the t-shirt hanging loosely around his chest.

How can he be so skinny? If there's anyone of them who should be able to eat until they _don't _look sickly thin, it's him!

Lawrence sits down next to him on the bench. Adam keeps looking up at the sky. He barely seems to notice that Lawrence is there, and Lawrence doesn't really find it necessary to remind him, so they're quiet for a while.

"Why did you want to talk?" Lawrence asks when he gets sick of the silence.

It sounds ruder than he thought it would. Adam doesn't really seem to mind, though. He just turns his face away from the sun, and looks at Lawrence from the corner of his eye.

"It's been a while since I gave you that money," he says softly.

'Money.' He just throws the word out, it means nothing to him. Lawrence barely dares to speak it.

That thought brings the match a little closer to the gasoline tank. But Lawrence keeps it in control.

He owes Adam a bit too much to yell at him.

"Yeah," he just says. "Why?"

Adam shrugs.

"Don't you want any more? Once again, I don't think your mom's stopped hooking because I gave you two-hundred bucks."

Lawrence sighs.

How easy it would be to accept. So easy to keep milking money from someone who doesn't even want it, give Lou food. Watch her grow. Watch her live.

Maybe even be able to stop resenting mom so much.

It's such a shame that he knows he can't do it.

"Adam," Lawrence says and tries to get used to how weird it feels to say his name without yelling. "I really appreciate what you gave me, really. But… It would feel too weird."

Adam cocks a brow.

"Not because we're sworn enemies," Lawrence goes on, and Adam grins briefly. "But because… It's not like I can afford to owe you anything."

Adam scans Lawrence over, like he's trying to figure out if he should try to convince him, but eventually nods.

"That makes sense," he says. "Or… It doesn't make much sense that it's more important to you to not owe me anything than give your little sister food, but I… Respect it, I guess."

Lawrence scoffs, but with less irritation than usual.

"Giving her food is the most important thing in the world to me. But if I'm going to settle my debt with you, I won't be able to do that for a long time to come."

Adam chuckles, shakes his head.

"Lawrence, we both know that you don't owe me a damn thing," he says and fixes Lawrence with his gaze. "I'm not going to ask for anything back. And if you didn't know that, you wouldn't have asked me for the damn money in the first place."

Lawrence tries to think of a stinging comeback, but he gives up pretty quickly. What Adam says is true. And admitting it, for some reason, isn't nearly as hard as he thought it'd be.

"Just let me know if you need anything else," Adam says and gets up.

Lawrence nods, even though Adam's already turned away from him. And before he's managed to figure out why, he founds himself opening his mouth again.

"Adam."

Adam turns around.

"The whole 'sworn enemy'-thing…" Lawrence says and feels his face heating up, because admitting this is basically hell. "We don't have to… You know…"

Adam smirks, blushes a little bit, too. Lawrence didn't think he was capable of that.

"Let's not get crazy," Adam mumbles and turns around again.

Lawrence smiles, too. He knows that's the closest to letting his guard down as Adam will ever be.

It doesn't feel insufficient, though. He feels more loved now than he has in a long, long time.

xxxxxxxxx

Adam comes home a few minutes later, feeling unease and frustrated. Sure, he always does, but he does more than usual right now. And it doesn't exactly help that he hears Claire rummaging through the fridge in the kitchen.

He doesn't want to be friends with Lawrence. He doesn't want to _want _to be friends with Lawrence, because a major flaw of his is that he's a nice person. It's just the one flaw, but it feels like that's reason enough for Adam to hate him unconditionally.

Adam doesn't like nice people. Nice people gets into his heart and root themselves there. He doesn't like that Claire is nice, either, that's why he looks at her through shades of despise and turns her into a bitch. It's so much easier that way.

Plus, he knows damn well how Lawrence will turn out later on. They might be able to be friends through high school, but he knows what'll happen after that.

Lawrence is a smart guy. He's going to get what he so desperately wants, he's going to get a future. Get out of here.

And when he does, when he stands there with a briefcase and an expensive suit he didn't have to recycle cans to get, how will Adam ever be able to stand him?

Adam steps into the kitchen right at the moment Claire closes the door to the fridge. She wears her hair up today, loose strands have fallen from the bun at the back of her head. She's wearing a tight, orange sweater and black jeans. Not everyone can combine orange and black, but Claire does. There are a few people who do.

"Hello, big brother," Claire says merrily and places a plate covered in cellophane on the counter.

"Hey," Adam mumbles. "Is there any coffee?"

"I think Mary did some earlier today," Claire says. "You can reheat it. You want come of these pancakes? There's a ton of it."

"No," Adam says, grabs the pan from the stove and pours the coffee into the sink. "I'm fine."

He can make his own damn coffee. Just the thought that she'd imply anything else annoys him.

They don't say anything for a while. Claire heats some of the pancakes in the microwave and hops up on the counter with the plate next to her. Adam waits for the coffee to boil.

"By the way," Claire then says. "I saw you talking to that Lawrence guy today. You two are finally getting along?"

Adam stares intently at the coffee pan.

Claire is allowed to ask things like that. There are a few people who are.

The fact is, Claire is one of those people who are allowed to do whatever she wants. Everyone can see that, and Adam, too. What separates him from everyone else who's ever met her is that he's not going to allow it.

Claire _can _do whatever she wants. But not with hm. And she's especially not allowed to ask things like that.

"No, we don't," Adam finally says and takes the coffee from the stove. "All in all, if you gave into your crazy girl's dreams and blew him, there wouldn't be any awkward situations when he had to choose between one of us, so you're good to go."

Claire gives him a look. She very rarely loses her temper, but when she does, her eyes go harsh and her voice gets sharp, and Adam always feels so good, so good because he's managed to get the monster out, bring down that sugar-sweet mask that he knows is not even fake but that he still hates, and show the world that there is something underneath it that's just as rotten and useless as he is.

His parents are never going to believe that. It's their dirty secret. But it does give him a small comfort.

"Dad's coming home from his business trip soon," Claire then says.

It's not really an insult, but still the worst thing she could possibly say. She knows it, and so does he. It's one of Claire's darker moments, when she actually takes advantage of how far above Adam she is, the fact that when their dad comes home, he's going to make him even more aware of it.

As if Adam didn't know it already.

As if he didn't see it every time he saw Claire's face. Knew so damn well that she has something that he's never even going to get even close of.

Knew so damn well that she'll always deserve to be loved so much more than he ever will be, and he'll never even know why.

**Aw, poor Adam… Who'd knew that one day, he'd actually be an angst-bitch for a girl in a fanfic? XD Either way, review and tell me how happy you are that they're finally getting along! **


	9. Dropping The Mask

**A/N: Yes, yes, yes, I know I'm a lazy bitch with my updating, but the thing is, I've been sick. Actually, I still am, but I figured that if you don't get better by writing about Adam and Lawrence as adorably grumpy teenagers and reading your lovely reviews, then what do you get better by? ;) So, for the sake of you and my health, here's another chapter! **

**9: Dropping The Mask**

One day when Lawrence comes home from school, his mother is actually awake. That very rarely happens.

Her eyes are puffy, hair soiled. And so tussled she can barely rake her hand through it.

Lawrence wishes that this wouldn't be the first thing he thinks when he sees his mother, but it is.

_She's so disgusting. _

"Hey," he says and closes the door.

It's warped, there's a big gap between the doorframe and the door itself. Lawrence feels a cold stab in the gut at the thought of what that will do when it's cold outside.

"Hey," she says.

She rubs her temples and squints against the light through the blinders. Her voice doesn't sound as raspy as usual. More hoarse in a beautiful way.

Her voice sounds a lot like Lou's, actually.

"How… How was school?" she asks and looks at him through her one, made-up eye.

Lawrence shrugs.

"It was okay."

"Do you have any friends there, Larry?"

Lawrence ruffles his hair with his fingernails. He doesn't know why, but these questions make him incredibly uncomfortable.

"Not really. Look, I'm going to see if I can get some dinner for us, okay?"

"You don't have to," mom says, almost hurriedly, like she thinks he's going to run out the door before she manages to get this out, and Lawrence wouldn't be surprised if he did. "I got some dinner before. I left Lou and Daniel with Wendy and went to the store. Look in the fridge."

She sounds so eager, like a little kid wanting her parents' approval. Lawrence walks over to the fridge and looks inside while she reaches for her cigarettes. When Lawrence takes the box of pancake mix out and looks at her, she smiles over her cigarette. And it's a sincere smile.

"Can you make them?" she asks shyly. "I'm feeling a little tired."

"Of course," Lawrence says and places the box on the counter. "I'm just going to get Lou and Daniel, because they're still with Wendy, right?"

She nods. Lawrence nods, too, and takes two steps from the kitchen to the front door, opens the warped door and goes outside.

It's really stupid how her being on her feet can make him sweating and frozen inside, both at the same time. He should be happy she's been even awake today, hell, she's even been conscious long enough to get that her kids need food.

It's just that these days, the good days, make the bad days even worse. It makes the memory of her when he told her he wanted to go to school, when she sat there on the other side of the cloud of smoke and stared at him with pure venom in her eyes, even more vivid, her eyes petrify him now as they did then.

If she'd been in bed every day, all day, that would've been his reality. It'd be all he knew, Lou's and Daniel's reality.

But now, that there are days when she's The Nice Mom, the one who's constant smoking and soiled sheets are almost cute because they just emphasize how much she cares about her kids, for God's sake, she _sells_ herself for them, it just hurts even more when those days are over.

The pancake syrup Lawrence will see dribble down Daniel's chin tonight will make it even harder to have to watch him go to bed without dinner again.

Wendy looks relieved when she sees him. She's sitting on an electric cabinet with Daniel in her lap. He's wriggling to get down to Lou where she's jumping up and down on a jar of coke down on the sidewalk.

"Do you have a mommy, Wendy?" Lou asks when Lawrence is in hearing distance.

Wendy smiles, flashing a glimpse of discolored teeth.

"Yeah, I do," she says absent-mindedly and wraps her arms tighter around Daniel's waist.

Lou doesn't look up when Lawrence is standing next to her. She keeps jumping on her can, and Lawrence takes the opportunity to hug Wendy, squeezing Daniel between them.

"I've never seen you with her," Lou says and looks at Wendy.

She still doesn't notice Lawrence. This conversation is too intriguing.

"Don't you like each other?" she asks sweetly and cocks her head.

Wendy chuckles and strokes Daniel's hair one last time before she hands him over to Lawrence. Lawrence smiles, too, and looks down at Lou with a sad glisten in his eyes.

"Trust me, Lou," he says and puts Daniel down on the ground. "I've met Wendy's mom. She's even worse than the crack whore we're stuck with."

Wendy laughs with a sense of lightness that would've surprised most people, but Lou just frowns her brows and cocks her head even more.

"What's a crack whore?" she asks, in the exact moment as a man with a suit and tie that he obviously didn't recycle cans to get, just the fact that he's in this neighborhood voluntarily just _screams_ "client," and when he hears these words from a six year-old's mouth, he actually stops in his tracks and stares at Lou, and then at Lawrence, and then at Wendy, waiting for either Lawrence to tell Lou that that's not a nice thing to say, or for Wendy to smack him over the head and say the same thing to him. But when none of that happens, he keeps walking, looking over his shoulder a few times, like he expects them to mug him, and as soon as he's out of sight, Lawrence and Wendy break down in hysterical laughter and Lou keeps looking bewildered.

There are some things that just can't be taken seriously. And the weird thing is, those are usually the most serious things of all.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Adam's father comes home from his business trip today.

There's a teary reunion in the hallway. Mom smiles so you can see all her whitened teeth and lets him shove his tongue so far down her throat it's a miracle she doesn't choke on it, and Claire squeals like a teenage fan on a Tokio Hotel concert and hugs him until he chuckles, pretending to be out of breath and pries her arms off his neck with a huge sigh of relief.

Which of course is hilariously funny. Claire actually almost dies just from laughing so hard.

Adam stands awkwardly in the back of the hallway. He's made it a general policy to at least say hi to his father when he comes back from his trips. That way, he at least won't get it thrown in his face during their next argument that he doesn't even try to make it better, but just locks himself in his room and hides from the problems.

"Hi, dad," Adam grumbles when Claire's stopped laughing and mom's stopped fondling his father's chest.

Dad untangles himself from mom's arms and walks up to Adam, puts both strong hands on his shoulders. Adam forces himself to look at him.

"Hello, Adam," his father says. "How are you?"

"Fine," Adam says with a shrug. "School is fine."

Dad nods. His smile never leaves his face, but after way too many seconds, he lets go of Adam's shoulders and walk back to mom and Claire.

"Well, girls! Let's crack a bottle of wine and call for Mary to make dinner, right?"

Adam still feels his hands on his shoulders.

He still wants to shake them off.

Later, when Adam sits with his family by the dinner table, huddling from the silent threat, his mother seems to realize that she can't deny his existence anymore, after a whole dinner of talking, about school, work, food, wine, the economy and Claire, anything but him. She puts her manicured hand on his, her nails look like red, shiny claws.

_Dragon's claw. _That's the first thing that comes to Adam's mind.

"Adam's only been sent to Mr. Salin's office twice since he started," she says.

Adam stares into his plate. Sees his father's polite condescending expression without looking at him.

"Really?" he says smarmily.

There's a pause, only the sound of his chewing jaws. Adam wants to throw up.

"And I assume he's a bit too good to put on the school's uniform?" dad then says. "Walks around there, dragging his feet, thinking he's a little better than all the rest? Because he wears that t-shirt that's supposed to be anarchistic because it hasn't been washed since he got it?"

The stake and potatoes are moving in Adam's stomach. He really does want to throw up.

"Dad, I think Adam doesn't wear that uniform because it looks like shit," Claire interrupts and takes a sip of her soda. "I don't wear it either. Just the skirt."

"That's different, sweetness," dad says, still with that hint of a smile. "You don't wear what you wear to make it seem like you're the princess while you're nothing but a little self-righteous piece of shit, like your brother."

And all this in the tone like he's talking about the weather. Something inside Adam breaks, and the nausea calms down. He even looks up.

"You're right, dad," he says, politely, too. "I should wear a t-shirt with a hooker on it. Or a t-shirt with Paris Hilton, who's made a fortune on sweet-talk and blowjobs. Or a t-shirt with you."

He gets up, and takes his plate to put it in the dishwasher, so Mary won't have to do it. Then he turns to his father again.

"But I guess it's not a lot of difference between the three, right?"

He walks away before dad manages to register what he said.

xxxxxxxxxxx

It's getting dark outside.

Adam's laying on his bed. Stares at the ceiling.

His evil genius is restless. He feels it. There's something inside him, moving, wants to get out. Almost like the dinner he had earlier, and almost as unpleasant. He feels like he's bigger than this room, bigger than the whole house, like he wants to blow the ceiling apart, finally be able to breathe.

There's still so much inside him. That's what separates him from the morons in his family, his school, this whole fucking neighborhood. He sometimes looks into the eyes of one of the students when he passes them in the halls and thinks that it's like looking into the eyes of a doll, all shiny and black, so perfect, but dead. Nothing there.

Those are the days when Adam has to take off all his clothes when he gets home and sit with his mirror in his lap for hours. Because then, he's forced to ask himself the unavoidable question: _If you're not one of them, then what are you? _

And of course, he takes the opportunity to jack off then, too. While he's at it.

He doesn't manage to get that far tonight, though. Right when he's asked himself the question, there's a knock on the door, and Adam sits up.

"Yeah?"

Mary opens the door with her gentle smile. Adam doesn't get nearly as surprised as he would've liked when Lawrence walks past her, smiling almost the exact same way she does. He's wearing nothing but a worn-down t-shirt and jeans tore up by the knees, nothing like the suit Adam's only seen him in up until now. He almost doesn't recognize him.

"Hey."

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Adam asks, more like a general wondering than an insult.

Lawrence shrugs and pretends like he isn't sucking in every inch of Adam's room; the queen-sized bed, the TV, the expensive carpet.

"I had nothing to do. You want to take a walk?"

Adam hesitates for a bit. Looks at the boy in front of him.

Even if he hadn't known how Lawrence really lives, he wouldn't be able to say no to him right now.

When Lawrence stands in front of him like that, with his hands in his pockets, his hair combed to the side, he doesn't look like the rich man's kid Adam had thought him to be.

He just looks like a kid.

"Sure," Adam says and gets up.

xxxxxxxxxxx

It's like taking a walk with Wendy. But in the meantime, completely different.

The air tastes as it does when he's out with her. The same coolness, the same hue of teenage dreams like a wisp in the air. And just like when he's out with Wendy, he thought he'd be out for about half an hour and back in time before mom's nightly costumers visited her, but it didn't really turn out that way. More like he looks at his watch two hours later and wonders how the hand can move so fast.

The blocks Adam and him walk through are different than the ones he walks through with Wendy, though. And he talks less with Adam than he does with her, and most of the things they say are just clever sarcasms, followed by a chuckle from one of them, the one who isn't hit by it. They don't know each other well enough to make fun of each other yet, but none of them really care about that.

"Why are you here, anyway?" Adam has to ask when they've been walking for about an hour. "Who's taking care about that little sister you keep yapping away about? Because please say you didn't leave her with your mom."

Lawrence lowers his gaze. He isn't really ashamed, though.

"Yeah, I did," he says and shoves his hands into his pockets. "But she's sleeping, really heavily, so I don't think she'd wake up if mom… You know…"

"If she screwed some random guy on the floor right next to her bed?" Adam says bitterly, and takes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. "Lawrence, do _you _believe yourself when you say that?"

Lawrence scoffs.

"If you try to make me feel guilty by saying that Lou, too will grow up to be either a hooker or a cleaner because our mom messed up, it's not working," he says venomously. "That won't happen to her. Or to Daniel."

Adam lazily looks up from his cigarette.

"There's a Daniel, too?"

"Yeah," Lawrence says and looks down on his shoes. "And a Wendy."

"She's your sister?" Adam asks.

Lawrence smiles weakly.

"I think she is, sometimes," he says sincerely. "But no. Unless those farfetched plots of the really bad soap operas where everyone has a sister they don't know about actually do come true, she's just my best friend."

Adam chuckles.

"And you're going to get them all out of… Wherever you come from?" he says, and actually looks at Lawrence for the first time since they started this conversation. "All by yourself?"

Lawrence nods.

"Yeah."

"How?"

A shrug.

"I'd never expected it to be easy. But I've gotten the opportunity to go to high school. _I'm _going to get out of there. And what am I supposed to do about them, just leave them there?"

Adam nods slowly.

"That makes sense."

He doesn't have to point out that Lawrence brings down way too much responsibility on himself. Lawrence knows that he's thinking just that, and Adam knows that he knows.

They stop by a dock that Lawrence's never seen before. He stands on the bridge for almost a whole minute, completely breath taken by the beauty of the clean water and the reflection of the sunset, and when Adam discovers that, he rolls his eyes and sits down to show his approval, and Lawrence sits down next to him. The smoke from Adam's cigarette unravels against the bright blue sky. They say practically nothing until Adam makes a gruff sound and stands up, and Lawrence realizes that that's as many emotional moments as Adam can stand in one night.

They're back at Adam's door about half an hour later. Adam puts his hand on the handle and puts his third cigarette out against the wall, and looks at Lawrence with that expression you get when you're not sure how to say goodbye to someone.

"Listen…" Lawrence says with a small smile at the corner of his mouth. "We're not… Like… _Friends, _are we?"

Adam chuckles. His smile is more sincere than Lawrence has ever seen on his face before.

"God no," Adam says and opens the door. "See you tomorrow."

Lawrence grins to himself when he turns around and walks away.

Admitting that they're friends will take a while for both of them, for obvious reasons.

But Adam has suddenly gotten onto the list of people who gives him the energy to get up in the morning. If that's not friendship, he doesn't know what is.

**(Exhales after eight chapters) Okay, I think it's safe to call them friends now. FINALLY! They're almost slower with that than they are with admitting they're in love, when it's those kinds of fanfics! Anyway, please review! For me and my runny nose! XD **


	10. I'll Be The Devil On Your Shoulder

**A/N: Wiiie, guess who's back? Missed me? Either way, Adam and Lawrence and I have missed you! XD So, without further ado, here's another chapter! And also, in case you think this is accidental: There **_**is **_**a time-lapse between the previous chapter and this, and I'm perfectly aware of that. Hell, I even did it on purpose. Hope you like it! **

**10: I'll Be The Devil On Your Shoulder**

One of the last memories that Adam has of loving his little sister is when he got is Xbox.

He was eight, maybe nine, way too young to get how much better off he was than most kids his age and why he would hate his parents because of it, and Claire a year younger. He'd gotten his Xbox, he was playing Fifa with Claire, and being the older brother, he of course beat her brains out. Claire thought it was fun for maybe ten minutes, and then she threw her control into the wall and said that this game was stupid. Adam had accepted that, and said that if she wanted, they could go make cupcakes. They did just that, and as a punishment for being better at Fifa, Claire slathered chocolate batter into Adam's hair and he chased her around the house until they were both out of breath.

Something Adam can think back of with a smile. A shameful smile, because yes, he is ashamed of having loved her.

And in the meantime, he can't understand what's changed since then. They loved each other back then because they were brother and sister, and they still are, aren't they? Why should their parents be able to ruin that?

He thinks that sometimes.

But then he feels that evil genius inside him, and then he remembers that he can't afford to love anything here. Because he's going to leave it as soon as possible, and then there can't be anything to hold him back.

xxxxxxxxxxx

She has one of her bad days today. Lawrence knows that, hell, he paid most of the price for it, but he still manages to get out of the trailer and off to school.

He's not sure how he does it, though. And he's not sure how well he's going to focus once he gets to school, that _fucking_ school and he more or less lives and dies for now days. The knowledge of what he left Lou and Daniel with is cold in his stomach, like that feeling you get when you realize that you forgot to turn off the stove.

Except that it's not just a mini heart attack that's over in a few seconds. It stays with him the whole day.

Lawrence does get to class in time, but he has to run the last block, and he's sweaty and panting when he finds his classroom. His teacher sends him a quick glance, which is enough to make that weight in Lawrence's gut even colder, but she doesn't say anything about it, just unlocks the classroom and lets the buzzing herd of students in.

Lawrence walks inside, with a spasmodic grasp on his notepad, and feels his gaze anxiously wandering around the teenagers finding their places behind their desks.

Where the hell is Adam? Doesn't he get that Lawrence needs him here? He's stopped trying to deny it by now, but he does want Adam here, someone who calms him down by having the attitude that Lawrence hates when anyone else has it, calms him down in a way that Lawrence still doesn't get how he does it.

The teacher starts talking, and Lawrence quickly grabs his pen and starts writing down every word the teacher says, even though he knows that the part that's actually useful information won't come for another ten minutes.

His gaze keeps flickering over to the door. Adam doesn't show up.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Adam very rarely shows up before lunch, Lawrence should've seen that pattern by now. And if he does come before then, he usually leaves after lunch, anyway. This is one of the days when he shows up after lunch, which should mean he's slept for a really long time, but when Lawrence sees him in the cafeteria, he still has dark marks under his eyes.

Adam and Lawrence never sit together in lunch. Adam's perfectly aware that Lawrence is going to mutilate himself as much as he has to to become One Of The Kids That The Teachers Respect, so he hasn't even tried to make contact with Lawrence when they're in a place where everyone can see them. Since they stopped fighting, of course. And Lawrence, for his part, has never even tried to deny this, to himself or to Adam, so he sits with the kids that actually _have _rich parents, and don't just pretend to, like he does.

Adam doesn't mind, though. He doesn't like food very much, and Lawrence feels just like the kind of guy who would nag him until he snapped and threw the spaghetti and meat sauce in his face. He sits by himself with his feet on the opposite chair and reads.

Adam loves the expression on people's faces when he tells them that he loves reading. He knows he doesn't really look like the kind of guy that would read Nietzsche and Wilde voluntarily, and even worse, love every second of it, but he is. That's a side of him that actually goes against his evil genius.

Adam may not be very cultural, but god knows he's an esthetic. And the vibrant words in his books, burning from the pages, almost forbidden even though the whole world reads them, appeal to both those sides of him.

_And all but lust is turned to dust, in humanity's machine. _

He knows those damn things by heart.

Adam turns the page of his book, and he just manages to register that some ketchup gets on the corner of the page, before he sees Lawrence's fingertips resting on the table in front of him.

He looks up. Lawrence has that look on his face he gets when something weighs him down. More than usual, that is. Adam smiles briefly and folds the stained corner of the page.

"Care to join me?"

Lawrence smiles briefly at the polite intonation, since he knows Adam well enough by now to know that he'd never say that and mean it.

"I was hoping you'd join me on the schoolyard," he says quietly. "I'd like to… Why are you reading Oscar Wilde?"

Adam smiles shyly and puts the book in his worn backpack.

"You think punk kids can't like the old classics?"

Lawrence scoffs.

"Don't get a big head. Oscar Wilde was a bisexual, boozing junkie who had about the same ability to both resist temptation and listen to other people as my three year-old little brother. Of course you like him."

Adam chuckles and gets up, takes his tray with him. And despite the time that's passed since that first walk they took together, it's not until now that he suddenly knows that Lawrence is allowed to say that. Because despite what he thinks of it, and even though he's still not sure how it happened, they are in fact friends now, and it's going to be like this for a long time ahead.

When they're out on the schoolyard, Adam takes his pack of cigarettes out, and Lawrence rolls his eyes and follows him to the sidewalk outside the green-ish copper fence that marks the limits of the school territory. Once they're there, Adam lights his cigarette and inhales gratefully, and Lawrence sends him a venomous look.

"You know how many types of cancer you get from smoking?"

"Do you know how much I don't care?" Adam replies sweetly. "You should be a doctor, Lawrence."

Lawrence's bitter look falls apart, and he smiles slyly.

"I will be a doctor."

Adam looks at him.

"That's how I'm going to get out of here. I'm going to be a doctor."

Adam grins over his cigarette.

"Once again, you should be," he says, and Lawrence knows that he means it. "You'd be awesome at it."

Lawrence smiles, though with a lowered gaze. Like he's a little ashamed.

"But that's not what you wanted to talk about, was it?" Adam goes on.

Lawrence shakes his head. Still without looking at him.

It's still so weird that he's telling Adam this. And what's weirder is that it doesn't feel weird at all.

"She… Has one of her bad days today," he forces out.

Adam nods slowly. Takes another drag.

"She has certain days when she at least _wants _to be a mother," Lawrence goes on. "When she spends the money on pancakes, and pacifiers for Daniel if his current one is too chewed-up… Instead of cigarettes, I mean. But then there are days… Like today…"

He swallows and looks down on his shoes. The hole at the toes. Adam's not the kind of comforter that hugs you and whisper sweet nothings in your ear, he just looks at Lawrence. Waits.

"She's just so _mean," _Lawrence says, since there's no better way to put it. "She asked me today why I even went to school when I would never become anything and wasn't good at anything… She called me _selfish _for spending money on that suit instead of food for my family… She called _me… Me selfish… _She told my little sister that she wouldn't even been there if the condom her costumer used when he was with her had already been inside of five other hookers before her… She…"

He can't go on. Lawrence keeps staring at his shoes and swallows again and again, because he's not going to cry in front of Adam more than once.

Adam smokes in an almost frenetic speed, so he's finished with his cigarette now. He drops it on the ground, smothering it with the heel of his shoe, and doesn't say anything for a while. Just sighs heavily and rakes his hand through his hair, like he doesn't want any advice to be spoken unless he's absolutely sure that every word in it is exactly what it's supposed to be.

"Don't ever believe her, Lawrence," he then says, gravely serious. "As long as you don't ever do that, you'll be fine."

Lawrence looks up. Wondering. Adam shakes his head, and for a second, he almost looks grown up.

"People in these situations always blame themselves sooner or later," Adam says with a bitter undertone. "Especially people like you. And you know how happy your bitch of a mom will be then, if you _voluntarily _brought down even more of things that _she _should be doing on yourself? Don't give her that, man. She doesn't deserve it."

Now when Adam's made eye contact, Lawrence finds it hard to keep it. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets, clears his throat, and looks at anything, the girls with their creased skirts who stand with their cigarettes a few feet away, the frizzy part of Adam's shoelace where it's been cut short, anything but Adam himself.

No one's said it that direct to him before. That's why it hurts so much that he knows what he's going to answer.

"I don't know what else to do," Lawrence says with a shrug, a hollow chuckle and looks up again.

Adam looks at the giant clock face in the tower of the school.

"Than to blame yourself?" he asks and starts walking towards the gates. "It'll come to you."

Lawrence follows him.

"Aren't you going home now that you've come here and gotten out of paying for your own lunch?" he asks when Adam opens the door to him. Adam grins.

"Claire's home sick, and one of the reasons I leave before or after her every day is that if I don't, I have to walk both to and from school with her," he says jokingly, but as always, there's a bitter truth underneath. "If I go home now, I'll be forced to socialize with her."

Lawrence takes two steps of the stairs in one big leap.

"Why do you hate her?"

"Why not?" Adam bites back.

It sounds too defensive for that to be the only explanation.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Adam's called to the principal's office later that day, without Lawrence, for the first time since their last fight. He and Lawrence exchange a look of mutual worry when Mr. Salin's secretary enters the classroom and calls for him, but Adam isn't as annoyed by their still fresh bond as he should be.

They're friends now. He's never really had one before, but from what he's heard, once you have one of those, there's not much use trying to get rid of them.

Adam lands heavily on the chair in front of Mr. Salin's desk and sends him that amused look that he knows drives all kind of grownups crazy.

"You wanted to talk to me?" he says merrily.

Mr. Salin puts his two enormous hands together and studies Adam thoroughly. It feels like he's in a dark X-ray.

"How's school, Adam?" he finally asks after being quiet for nearly half a minute.

Adam shrugs.

"Not worse than any other, I guess. Why?"

Mr. Salin lifts one of the papers in front of him.

"You have almost no attendance," he says as smoothly as it's even possible with that baritone-voice of his. "Do you care about your staying here at all?"

"You know I don't, Mr. Salin," Adam responds sweetly.

Mr. Salin nods slowly and drops the paper. Then he puts his hands together again, with another one of those characteristic breaks.

"Adam," he then says. "I know your parents very well, and fact is, I've known you since you were about six. I know you're the most spoiled little punk the world's ever seen and that it's your way and not even the hard way, but no way at all. I've made my peace with that. But if you don't get your act together, I will call your parents. And not to tell them one of those things you just get happy if they know, things that them knowing only make you even more cute and anarchistic, but things that _would _matter, to them and to you. And would have consequences. Okay?"

Adam grins and leans forward, puts his hands on the expensive desk, since he knows touching fancy things with your scary rebel-hands annoy the hell out of grownups, too.

"You don't want me here," he whispers, almost purrs. "My grades are the ones the rest of the students here had in preschool, and you wouldn't even let me onto the properties if my dad hadn't had a big job. What difference does it make to you if I skip half of my classes?"

"_Because," _Mr. Salin replies sharply before he even manages to finish the sentence, "you spend every second of the periods you _do _show up for with Lawrence Gordon, and probably a lot of his free time, too. You think I haven't noticed?"

"So?" Adam snaps.

"So," Mr. Salin goes on, "Lawrence Gordon is one of the smartest kids I've seen in years. He may be poor, but if he continues doing what he's been doing for the past three months, he will get a scholarship, and he will go off to college. _If _he continues what he's doing."

Adam should get what he's trying to say right away. But the connection is so bizarre that it takes him a few seconds, and when he does get it, his mask of smugness drops, his leverage is gone in a heartbeat and replaced with the easily defeated anger.

"Are you saying that I'll try to…"

"I don't think you'll _try _to do anything, Adam," Mr. Salin interrupts, his eyes narrowing. "But I do think that birds of a feather flock together. I know how kids work; if you spend enough time with someone, whether it's Hannibal Lecter, you become more and more like them every day, intentionally or not. And I will _not _let you ruin this for Lawrence, and if you care about him, you won't, either."

Adam can't respond right away. He sits on his chair a few seconds, lets the information sink in. Tries to wrap his mind around an idea that unfortunately seems more and more sensible by the second. Then he stands up. It takes him a while to gather up to that grin again.

"Mr. Salin," he says politely. "If Lawrence didn't have any bad influence, such as myself, he'd either work himself to death, gets a nervous breakdown and start killing prostitutes, or become like my parents. And I'm going to keep that from happening to him, by doing what _I've _been doing for the past three months, which is skipping the first period and hoping that he learns something from that."

Then he leans forward again, very cautious about putting both palms on the desk in front of him. Mr. Salin looks like he wants to swing his tree log of an arm against Adam's head.

"If you want me to show that he's my friend, I really can't do it any better than that," Adam finishes off.

Then he turns around and walks away. Now, he doesn't have to work to get that grin up again.

Lawrence can become a doctor, if that's what he wants. He can go to college, he can become rich, he can get out of here and take his family with him. Adam would never keep that from him.

But he's not letting Lawrence become one of them.

And if the only way to keep him from that is to skip half of his classes and hope that Lawrence will not do it, but at least see the glory of it, he's even got a reasonable cause for not showing up for history tomorrow.

**Yeah, Adam's got awesome ways to show his love… ;) Pleasy-please, review! **


	11. Different Ways To Get High

**A/N: Wiiie, a chapter! I sometimes wonder who's more excited when I post something new; you or me. XD But love it or hate it, I have another chapter right here, and I command you to read! **

**11: Different Ways To Get High**

One day, Lawrence is sitting in the cafeteria with the rich kids.

Or, everyone in this school is rich. But these kids are part of the elite, and not everyone's allowed here. Very few, in fact. He's worked the whole semester to get all the way to their table. It feels like this victory is enough to get him anywhere he wants in life.

The head of the rich table is Brian, you'd know that even if you'd never been to the school before. Lawrence has never questioned it, either, he doesn't even try to talk to anyone else, even though he thinks Brian is pretty annoying.

But he doesn't disagree with anything. He's here on their terms, not his own. Lawrence is here because they don't see the traces of the stains on his suit that he tried to get out with a dish brush last night, the fact that his head is spinning from not having breakfast today either. And that he hides his hands under the table, so they won't see that his fingertips are bloody and infected after sanding his nails down on the mudguards of the trailer again.

They jump between conversational topics. Mostly the ones that concern school one way or the other, how annoying it is, how much they hate those and those teachers. Completely useless words hiding under the sound of chairs being pulled out, the slurping of the water cooler.

"Hey, Lawrence," Brian suddenly says, and Lawrence almost startles. "You're one of the good kids. What did we have for homework today?"

It takes Lawrence a few seconds to get over the fact that Brian has actually addressed him. Then he gathers up a smile.

"Page thirteen to thirty-two in the history book," he says and takes a bite of his food.

Tries not to eat the whole damn thing in one bite. _God, _it's been long since he ate…

Brian scoffs and scuffs the pasta around on his plate.

"I don't get how the expect us to do that," he says, and the rest of the rich kids nods affirmatively. "It's like, 'hi, life, I didn't see you there behind all that school!'"

"Why do you care?" another one of the rich kids says venomously. "You don't do the homework anyway."

Brian grins in a way that's supposed to seem embarrassedly.

"Because I don't have to," he says cockily. "I just feel sorry for the kids that don't have a guaranteed job waiting for them the second they get out of this dump. Like Faulkner; since we can safely assume that he doesn't do the homework, how is he ever going to make it in life?"

Affirmative nods.

"Did you know how he even gets the money to eat?" one of the rich kids says, and goes on without waiting for an answer: "He turns tricks. Down in Detroit. And hitchhikes here every morning."

Horrified gasps. Brian sends a compassionate glance towards Claire, where she sits a few tables away.

"It's a miracle Claire's turned out okay," he says.

Affirmative nods. From everyone but Lawrence.

He's actually not sure what excuse he makes up for leaving the table. Lawrence just stands up, says something and leaves. What can't be heard through the pounding blood in his ears, the suppressed rage even more painful than his infected fingertips.

Lawrence isn't planning on sitting with the rich kids again after that. But he talks to Adam later that lunch break, sputters out a string of profanity and Adam listens calmly while taking long drags from his cigarette.

"Those fucking _brats _don't have to do a damn thing to get ahead in life!" Lawrence growls, his fists open and close irregularly. "People like me have to bust their asses to get themselves and their families out of this fucking place, and _they… _They don't even have to do their homework, and they still get straight A's! And they _know _it! They don't even want to _try _to do anything on their own!"

He stops to catch his breath. Adam hasn't said a word during Lawrence's rant, but now, he puts out his cigarette and clasps his hands loosely in front of him. Stays quiet a little longer and then says:

"Maybe you should learn from them a little," calmly.

Lawrence jerks his head to look at him.

"What?"

"Don't get me wrong," Adam says with a small smile. "I don't hate those punks any less than you do. And of course I think they should get their heads out of their daddies' asses and do something on their own. But do you really think you're the prototype for the healthiest guy on Earth?"

Lawrence scoffs.

"I work hard, and I do it on my own. Is that a bad thing?"

"No," Adam says, serious now. "But when was the last time you ate?"

Lawrence doesn't answer.

"Yesterday's lunch, because that was for free," Adam answers for him. "As soon as you get some food at home, you give it to your siblings, or to Wendy."

Lawrence scoffs again.

"Should I let them starve?"

"Again, no," Adam says. "What you do for them is… Fuck, I'd never be able to do it, and God knows I can be persistent when I want to. But you won't be any use for them or anyone else if you burn yourself out. Okay?"

Lawrence lowers his gaze, almost shamefully. It's weird how someone he hated a few months ago is now the only one he allows to see how straining all this is on him.

"Who else is going to do it?" he mumbles and rakes a hand through his hair.

Adam looks like he's about to shrug, but then his eyes get stuck on Lawrence's hand, that he's now taken out of his pockets since they got out here, and then he frowns and grabs it before Lawrence manages to put it away again.

"Man, what the fuck have you done to your fingers?" he snaps with his gaze going from Lawrence's face to the throbbing, inflamed tips of his fingers.

Lawrence cringes when Adam touches him and pulls his hand to him again. He tries to avoid Adam's eyes, because they look at him in a scary way, a worried way, and Lawrence isn't sure how to handle that.

No one's really been worried about him before. Him fighting against the life he was born in has always been something natural to everyone, including himself.

"We don't have any nail clippers at home…" he mutters and hides away his hands again. "And… They were getting too long. People could've seen it."

"Those rich brats you've been cursing about for the past half hour might notice that you're poor?" Adam almost yells. "Oh, the _horror!_ The mere thought is downright _excruciating! _Lawrence, hold my hand, I'm going to need your help to get through this difficult time!"

He tries to grab Lawrence's hand, and Lawrence shakes it off with an embarrassed grin.

"You wouldn't even know what those words meant if you hadn't been such a little literature-geek," he bites back, and Adam smiles, too.

"Lawrence," he says, so firmly that Lawrence has to look at him. "I'll get you some fucking nail clippers, okay? Hell, I'll even take you home after school and give you some food and money, how's that sound?"

Lawrence tries to hide the almost overwhelming relief that washes over him. But unfortunately, Adam knows him too well.

"Are you saying that you'll stay here until the end of the day for me?" he says.

Adam chuckles and starts walking back to school.

"Don't get a big head, though," he says sweetly. "You don't really mean that much to me, you know."

Lawrence nods and follows him.

"I only use you to get money," he replies without looking at him.

Adam nods, too. Then their eyes lock for a second, and they start laughing so hard that they have to grab each other's shoulders to even be able to stay on their feet.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Adam wishes that his father would leave for another business trip. The only reason he even stands being home is the fact that his father very rarely is in the house for more than one, or maybe two weeks straight. But he's actually stayed home this time, his presence is a constant chill through the apartment, almost unbearable.

They're sitting by the dinner table now, all four of them. Adam still barely looks up, and he still doesn't eat much. The bites just swell in his mouth, he feels dirty inside.

Dad's been talking and making jokes and ha-ha-ha with Claire and mom through the whole dinner, but now, it's been quiet for a few seconds too long, and Adam knows it's going to come now, that turning point where he gets a little sick of being nice and acknowledges Adam for the first time today. And never in a good way.

Indeed. His father wipes the corners of his mouth with his napkin, and turns to Adam with that cold smile.

"So, Adam," he says. "How's school been today? The rough ten minutes I assume you were there, that is."

Adam doesn't look up.

"Okay."

His dad chuckles.

"Just okay? Nothing more? After all the money I've spent on putting you there, even though I know you'll never be there anyway? You can't even appreciate it the one class a week you find it to your liking to go there?"

"It's school, dad," Adam replies coldly. "Should I jump up and down in excitement?"

"No, of course not," dad says. "Being the way you are, I guess I should be happy if you even say thanks for the dinner."

"You don't even fucking make it," Adam bites back, looking up now, one single, burning glance.

The slaps come in three sharp bursts, not even a second's pause between them, and Adam gets up before dad gets a chance to see the blood seeping from his bottom lip, or the stinging tears welling up no matter how hard he works to push them away.

The silverware is still clattering by the table. Before Adam slams the front door shut, he hears mom's dry, frail voice, like she's not sure if she's allowed to talk yet:

"Claire, sweetie, would you pass the salt?"

xxxxxxxxxxx

Adam isn't drunk. He's pretty proud of that, actually. It's not easy being surrounded by people that can barely even stand because they're high on alcohol or glue or something else, and stay sober yourself. He's done good tonight.

He promised Lawrence he'd show up for school tomorrow morning. They have a test then, criminal justice, and Adam knows that Lawrence needs all the support he can get before tests.

He always sits there, with an almost greenish shade of white on his face, staring blankly in front of him, with a schoolbook open in front of him. Lawrence always tries to study even the minutes before the tests, even though he usually knows it all by heart, but he can never do it. The book is open in front of him until Adam takes it from him.

It's because of all the expectations, Lawrence said this afternoon, when they were at Adam's place before his parents had come home. When they were sitting on his bed after Adam had cleaned Lawrence's infected wounds, talking for hours in the way that Adam usually hates, but that now seemed like the best three hours he's had in a very long time.

Adam's sitting on an empty wreck of a car and watches the drunken scenarios in front of him. Someone's lit a small bonfire in an empty tin barrel, it gives a yellow glow to everyone's faces.

This is where they all end up, the kids who aren't poor like Lawrence, but sure look like it, with their trashed clothes, their frizzy hair. In fact, it's more common that they're like him, rich man's kids who are looking for a home away from home. You can usually tell their financial differences by checking what they drink, if it's brandy from an expensive bottle or cheap bear that they've stolen from a night-open convenient store somewhere.

But the thing is, this is one of the few places Adam knows where money doesn't matter. No matter how much their drink cost, they're all the same here. They're the subcategory of teenagers, and the only thing that matters here is whether or not you've heard the latest Ramones-album or if you can pierce someone's ear with a normal needle and make it good. That's why this is one of Adam's favorite places on Earth.

Adam takes a drag from his cigarette and is about to put it out when a girl walks up to him. She's very pretty, and not even that drunk. Her arms are slim and her eyes are so black-painted that she looks a lot like the Alice Cooper-image she has on her t-shirt. A black streak runs through her bleach-blond hair, and she smiles seductively with blood-red lips.

Adam smiles back at her. If he doesn't get to drink, this seems like a good way to end the night.

Adam loves girls. Weird, since he lives with two girls who he hates intently, but he does. He loves the anatomy of them, the shapes, their taste and their scent. He loves them, as long as they don't in any way remind them of mom or Claire.

This girl walks up to him, pressing close. When she's right next to him, she reaches up and grazes over the bruise on Adam's cheek with two fingertips.

"What's happened to you?" she asks.

Her voice is hoarse with the side effects of tobacco. Adam's smile fades away.

"My dad's beating me up," he says bluntly.

Something is enlightened in her eyes. Her fingers move over to his hair.

"Does it hurt?" she murmurs, moves closer.

"Yeah," Adam says.

Pause.

"My dad's an asshole, too," she says.

Adam nods. That's the case with most people here.

She's really close now, one hand on his neck and the other one still in his hair.

"Do you want to keep me out of the house a little longer?" she whispers, her face right next to Adam's. That momentarily, pretty pointless lust is awakened in him, and he grabs her hand.

"Come on," Adam mumbles and drags her a little further away from the fire, even though he doesn't really care if someone sees them. He's seen more of these people fucking in backseats of car wrecks than he cares to remember, and he assumes it's the same with them. They wouldn't care, either, if they even registered it, as drunk as most of them are by now.

He's just going to have to find one of the car wrecks that aren't already occupied by people who come here for the exact same reason as he does, do this girl, and then go home. Hope that his father isn't still awake, since he probably hasn't gotten all the punishment he's supposed to get for his comment by the dinner table.

If his dad is still awake, he's going to take his beating, and then go to bed.

But on the bright side, he's going to go to school the next morning.

Adam never thought he would think this, but he does look forward to going to school the next morning. Because going there, being Lawrence's moral support and get the small smile Lawrence manages to muster in that state in return, is one of the few things in life that actually gets him to feel meaningful.

**No, Adam is NOT going to be straight in this fanfic, just to be clear. XD He's just doing what he always does, being lost and doing stupid things to get a rush. But I'll take any review, including the ones who just tell me how much they hate me! **


	12. It's A Shame It's Only Once A Year

**A/N: Well, not exactly much to say about this chapter… I'm still happy as hell over the mere fact that I managed to post it, of course, but I won't bore you with another one of my rants. ;) And I know that I fast-forward in time a lot in this fic, but it's just because I want to get through all their three years of high school, and it's already been… Wow. Twelve chapters. XD **

**12: It's A Shame It's Only Once A Year**

The walks seem to get longer every day.

Adam isn't sure how it happens, but suddenly, Lawrence has become a constant element of his day, like his cigarettes or his music. Suddenly, Lawrence has started turning up every day, at pretty much the same time every time, and Adam's finds himself getting just as happy every time, just as restless and unease when Lawrence is just a little late.

They don't do much once he comes there. Lawrence doesn't have to ask if they're going to take a walk anymore, Adam's usually grabbed his leather jacket before he opens the door to him by now. If Lawrence has something he wants to get off his chest, he says it, and if he does, Adam gives his view of it, but if Lawrence doesn't have anything to say, they don't say much. And when they do, they don't solve the world problems. It's mostly a comment about the brats they have to be in school with, or a question about who'd win a fight between Superman and Spiderman. It's nothing big, but it doesn't have to be.

Adam's already started to rely on Lawrence. As horrible as that sounds.

The only two things he's really scared of in life is either relying on people or trust them. And with Lawrence, he does both, and for some reason, it's not scary at all.

On one of the nights, when the autumn's coming to an end and it's getting colder every day, they sit on the same dock they did that first walk. Lawrence still looks out from it with an almost childish wonder, and Adam is still bored in a really exaggerated way, as if to make sure that Lawrence knows that it's only for his sake he does this. They've been quiet for about five minutes when Lawrence speaks up.

"I forget that there are things this beautiful sometimes," he says without looking at Adam. "That there's a world outside my neighborhood."

He pauses. Adam still stares blankly at the water, but Lawrence knows that he listens.

"That's where I grew up," Lawrence goes on, suddenly hears what he says. "I grew up… Completely deprived of beautiful things."

Adam keeps staring at the water. He doesn't plan to answer, since he knows that Lawrence rarely needs an answer as long as he gets to speak his mind, but before he knows it, he's started talking. And worse, he actually speaks from his heart.

"There are a lot of people out there who hates punk because it's not beautiful," he says and scratches the side of his head. "But come on. Most of those bands sing about how much grownups suck and that you should just fuck school and go ahead and do what you want to do, which according to me is one of the most beautiful sentiments imaginable."

Lawrence chuckles weakly. Adam smiles, too.

"From what you've told me, your little sister is beautiful as hell," he then goes on. "In her own way. Just like that Wendy girl, and what you do for them. Everything you do for them is pretty damn beautiful."

Lawrence nods slowly. They're quiet for a while.

"Everything I do for them, I'd do for you, you know," he says then.

Adam scoffs.

"I don't need it."

_You're enough as long as you're here. _

Those words hang in the air between them. Adam doesn't have to say them.

xxxxxxxxxxx

The autumn passes by pretty quickly, and before you know it, the semester is done. Adam's failed most of his courses, and their PE teacher manages to get his hopes up in their final class with him, when he begins the sentence with: "I can give you a C," but Adam's mood quickly drops when he finishes it with: "if you quit smoking."

Adam looks like a thundercloud when Lawrence asks him how his talk with the teacher went. You can only expect so much of a person, and there's no way he'll quit smoking.

They get their grades on the last day. Lawrence's are so good that he doesn't even want to show them to Adam, or anyone else, for that matter. The class is supposed to have some sort of mini-graduation before their vacation starts, but everyone basically runs out as soon as they get their little envelope. Tonight's going to be spent drinking up the money their parents give them as a reward for just making it through the semester.

"We're going to have to find something else to do in the nights now," Adam says as he puts on his thick winter coat. "We won't be able to be outside. I watched the weather reports, it's going to be fucking 'Day After Tomorrow' from now until February."

Lawrence chuckles, even though the mere thought makes his insides go cold. There _has _to be a way to isolate the trailer…

Adam looks at him. Sees what he's thinking, as usual.

"Lawrence?" he says with a small smile as he flicks up his collar.

"Yeah?" Lawrence says and grabs his jacket - which is the same as the one he wore this summer - pretending to not know what he's going to say.

"Do you need anything to get by over the winter?" Adam says and starts walking towards the exit.

"No, no, we'll be fine," Lawrence says and puts his hands in his pocket. "You wouldn't happen to have any egg cartons that I can isolate my ridiculously underprivileged home with so I won't have to worry about my little brother dying in his sleep, would you?"

Adam laughs briefly and shrugs.

"I know you're joking," he says and opens the door, the cold is like a slap in the face, "but since not even I can afford to buy you a whole new house, I consider that the best possible solution."

Lawrence scoffs.

"Egg cartons?"

"Yeah," Adam says, still with a small smile. "Do you have a better idea?"

Lawrence doesn't. They spend Christmas Eve taking all the egg cartons they've found or stolen from home and gluing them on every inch of free space of the walls in the trailer, and filling as many of them as possible with little pieces of balled-up cloth they've found outside. And for the first time since the beginning of December, Lou forgets that her breath forms a misty cloud in front of her face and that she can barely move her fingers, and bounce around, giggling, sparklingly happy, and quickly gets hired as Adam's assistant, who gives him the glue whenever he asks for it and blushes every time he smiles at her.

Mom's probably on her bed, giving them the evil eye through the cloud of cigarette smoke, but it doesn't matter. She's not very important right now.

"There," Adam says merrily when they can finally step down from the rickety chairs they've used as ladders. "It's a fucking palace in here now, isn't it?"

Lawrence smiles in that ridiculously grateful way that probably makes him look like an idiot.

"Definitely," he says and looks around. "Now we just have to do something about the fact that it now doesn't only look like the trailer belongs to white trash, but to mentally deranged white trash."

Adam chuckles.

"Don't worry, man," he says and slaps Lawrence's shoulder. "We can pick up something that covers it, some… Fabric or something. I think that'd isolate, too."

Lawrence nods. He feels different now than he usually does when he's finished a job. Less angst-ridden, more… Fulfilled. Content. He's not used to it.

"Adam," Lou says and grabs Adam's hand. "Lawrence has told me you're rich."

Adam looks down at her, smiles.

"My parents are," he says and looks at their handiwork of egg cartons again. "Unfortunately. I'd give every dime to you, but then I'd have to go to jail."

Lou squints up against Adam. It takes her a few seconds of careful consideration before she says:

"You don't look rich."

A scoff from behind them. Lawrence feels his happiness deflating like someone punctured a balloon inside of him. Of _course _she has to ruin everything.

As he suspected, mom's sitting behind them on her bed, in a tight white top and panties, smoking her third cigarette in the past ten minutes, with Daniel in her arms. And she looks at Adam like he's the one who isn't wanted here.

"If anyone's white trash, it's him," she spits out and beckons against Adam with her cigarette. "Look at him. Even Lawrence dresses better than that, the little punk-ass snob who thinks he's _so _much better than us if he blows his fucking principal to get a degree and leaves us behind."

Lawrence barely reflects on her words. Adam's taught him that if he can, he should keep that power from her.

He thought that was more than what Adam was capable of, though. He hasn't exactly proven to have very good control over his temperament. And the truth is, Lawrence would absolutely love it if Adam threw one of his famous tantrums at his mom right now, something he himself is so desperately craving for.

But Adam just smiles gracefully and lifts the hand that's connected with Lou's, demonstratively.

"Miss Gordon," he says softly, "I refuse to be judged by someone who could probably be out-mothered by Cruella De Vil."

Lawrence doesn't point out that even if they could afford a TV, mom's a bit too old to watch Disney movies. By the look on her face, he can tell that she at least got that it was an insult.

She glares at Adam, has that daze of cigarette smoke over her face and that gaze that's so evil that Lawrence forgets that she's human.

"Get the fuck out of my trailer," she growls and points to the door.

Adam doesn't even register her. He's busy rummaging through his pockets before he finds a stick of gum to give to Lou.

A few hours later, when Daniel and Lou are asleep, Adam and Lawrence sit outside on the steps in front of the front door, so they won't disturb them, even though it's too late for that, with mom throwing things around the kitchen. It's cold as hell, and since Adam's generosity has limits, Lawrence has only gotten to borrow one of his gloves. Well, it's better than nothing.

Lawrence knows that Adam wants to ask about her. How she became the way she is now, why Lawrence doesn't just grab his siblings and take off, since even having nothing should be better than being stuck with this. But he doesn't, and Lawrence is grateful for that.

"Hey," Adam says suddenly. "I almost forgot. I've got you a little something."

Lawrence smiles tiredly and blows warm air into his hands.

"You do realize I don't have anything for you, right?"

Adam chuckles and picks a little package out of his pocket. Wrapped in an old newspaper, like he doesn't want to make it seem like he put too much thought into it.

"Yeah, I know," Adam says and puts the package on Lawrence's lap. "But you've already given me a lot, man, so just open the damn thing."

Lawrence smiles again and reluctantly takes his cold hands out from inside his sweater. When he's torn away the paper, he just throws it on the ground, it's littered enough here already, and laughs out loud when he sees what Adam bought him.

_Journal of the American Medical Association. _

Lawrence smiles stupidly. He's really not sure how he's supposed to react. No one's given him a gift before.

"Wow…" he finally gets out.

"You're going to need it," Adam grins.

Lawrence chuckles, more out of shock than anything else, and still without taking his eyes off the book.

"Thanks," he then says, and does manage to look at Adam. "This means… It means a lot."

"So I can tell," Adam says and smiles openly. "You deserve it."

Pause.

"But if you buy me a damn thing, I'll never talk to you again," Adam finishes off, and Lawrence laughs again.

"It must be hard for you to be this nice," Lawrence says and puts the book in his pocket.

"You have no idea," Adam says. "And don't worry, I'll be an asshole again tomorrow."

"Thank God."

Lawrence doesn't think he's ever had a Christmas this good, or will ever have, ever again.

**Because I know everyone loves the whole rough-guy-occasionally-being-nice-thing. XD Review! **


	13. You're Not That Strong

**A/N: Why, hello! I know I've been a lazy bitch with the updating, but… You know, summer tends to mess with my time just as much as school does! (Which means I don't have an excuse anymore. Damn it.) But either way, enjoy! **

**13: You're Not That Strong**

"Who did Hitler set a pact with?"

"Stalin."

"And why did he do that?"

Lawrence rubs the tip of his nose.

"Because… He was hoping that by allying with Russia, he'd get to do whatever he wanted in Poland."

"Good. And why did Stalin agree to ally with him?"

Lawrence sighs and bows his head.

"Because…"

"Come on," Adam says and tries to get eye contact with Lawrence over the edge of his history book. "You know this. Why would he want to form a pact with his enemy?"

Lawrence sighs heavily, rubs his forehead, bites his bottom lip. So desperate for knowledge he already has. Adam hates seeing him like this.

"He…"

Then he crosses that line again, the ambitious fire has gotten out of control, doesn't help, only hurts, and Lawrence roars something incomprehensible and throws his hands up.

"Fuck!" he yells and stands up, punches the air in frustration.

Adam sighs and put the history book down. He does hate Lawrence like this, but unfortunately, he's done it so many times that he knows just how to deal with it.

"It's just a test, man," he says calmly.

Lawrence scoffs.

"Yeah, it's just my goddamn life," he spits out, opens and closes his fists. "Don't even try to work that argument, Adam, you know it just pisses me off."

Adam smiles weakly.

"I'm just hoping that if I say it enough times, you're going to listen," he says softly.

Lawrence sends him an annoyed look, and Adam's smile just grows.

"And even if it's true that this is your life and that if you, God forbid, would only get a B+ on this, the world would implode and the dinosaurs would come back to life and eat us all alive," he goes on, "you won't have to worry about that. Because that concern you have that you failing on one test is such a big deal is about as relevant as you failing at all. It's not going to happen. Okay?"

Lawrence does seem to calm down during Adam's little speech. His breathing slows down and his hands stop clutching to something invisible. But right when Adam's about to ask him to sit down so he can keep question him, the spark flares up and Lawrence starts ranting again, with that look in his eyes that proves that he's talking more to himself than to Adam.

"How the fuck do you know?" he hisses and starts walking back an forth behind his chair. "I don't even remember it when I'm sitting with you in a fucking bedroom and I'm not _nearly _as nervous as I am during the actual test, how the _hell _am I supposed to do it then? I'm going to get a fucking _breakdown, _I'll…"

He quiets down like someone's switched off a radio, and Adam clasps his hands on his stomach.

Lawrence will always be the hysterical one of the two of them. The half of him, at least, while the other one is so concerned about keeping his feelings bottled up that not even Adam gets how he's able to do it. And that's probably good, both for their relationship to each other, and for Adam, since it keeps him on his toes.

But still.

Adam would give so much to take this burden off of Lawrence's shoulders.

"You're the only one who determine whether or not you're going to pass on this test, Lawrence," Adam says. "But as you said, there's no way you'll pass it if you can't even get yourself to study. And since your nerves is something not even I can cure, all I can say is this…"

He pauses until he's sure that they've got eye contact. Then he leans forward, hands on his knees, and says, with pressure on every syllable:

"_Calm. The fuck. Down." _

Then he leans back. Lawrence just glares at him with near hatred in his eyes, and Adam can't help but laugh.

"You can hate me if you want. But just sit down so we can get this done, because if you actually would get just a B+, you'll snap and kill the teacher."

Lawrence stands still for a few more seconds. Then he exhales a breath it sounds like he's held since he got up from his chair, and finally sits down again. Adam smiles, a little proud of his effort, and opens the history book again.

"Now, let's pick up from where we left off," he says and finds the page they were on. "Stalin agreed to the conditions, why did he do that?"

Lawrence is quiet for a moment. Then he gets the look of a little kid who's found a nickel on the street, and says:

"He'd tried to ally with the British and the French, but it didn't work out!"

Adam nods and looks at him over the book.

"See? I told you you knew this!"

Then they both sit and grin like morons for a few seconds before they go on.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Lawrence comes home late that night. It's February, the end of the giant cold wave. It's getting warmer, in the days at least, but the nights are still so devilishly cold that his fingers are stiff and it's hard to take the keys out of his pocket, and he's never been so grateful for the egg cartons that are now covering the walls. Lawrence and Wendy spent the whole Christmas day rummaging around in the scrap yard to find some cloth they could cover the walls with to isolate even more, and they ended up tearing the cover off of car seats and pinning it to the egg cartons with toothpicks. Neither that or the egg cartons have made the trailer a decent place to live, but it's better than before.

When he comes in, he sees Wendy sitting on his bed with his blanket around her shoulders. Lou and Daniel are sound asleep in the crib, safely wrapped up, and Lawrence doesn't even look at mom's bed. He knows it all too well, the creaking of the springs in the mattress and the grunting, god, it sounds like a fucking _pig_.

Lawrence's stomach turns.

He hates her.

"Who's that?" asks whoever's fucking his mom this time.

"It's just my son," she replies, in a downright bored tone. "Don't mind him."

Lawrence grits his teeth and beckons to Wendy to come here.

"Let's go outside," he says. "Take the blanket with you."

Wendy nods and rushes over to him. They walk outside, and Lawrence is sure to close the door with as much noise as possible. He avoids Wendy's eyes when they walk away to the scrap yard, because he knows they're sympathetic, in that way that he hates and so desperately craves at the same time.

When they reach the Volvo they usually sit on top of, they instead open the doors and step inside. It's too cold to be outside, and Lawrence's heart skips a beat when he sees Wendy's bare legs.

He so badly wants to help her.

"You got any beer?" Lawrence asks in a sigh when they've sat there for a few seconds.

Wendy nods and opens the glove box. There's a green plastic bag inside, and she picks out two cans from the four that are left.

"At least it stays cold now," she says with dark humor as she hands him one of them and Lawrence chuckles tiredly.

They open their cans, drink, and stay quiet for almost a minute. Lawrence is angry, and Wendy is guilty, and neither of those are the most talkative moods in the world. But eventually, Wendy speaks up, in a shameful whisper.

"He didn't come until after they were asleep," she says, without even looking at him. "And they didn't wake up while he was with her. I'm sorry I didn't take them outside until it was bedtime for them, but it was freezing. I'd rather have them indoors, even if it was with her."

Lawrence jerks his head to her.

"For Christ's sake, Wendy, I'm not mad at _you," _he says and puts a hand on hers out of reflex. "I'm just thankful as hell that you were there! I mean, you're…"

He stops, thinks over what he's about to say, and looks at her again.

"I really don't know what I'd do without you," he finally says, and means it, every word. "And not just because you're an awesome babysitter, but because you're you, and even if you're just another burden, you can't talk yourself down like that, because I wouldn't have made it this far if it weren't for you. I would've killed myself. Okay?"

Wendy smiles, a teary smile, and squeezes the hand on hers.

"I love you," she says, more directly than she's ever said it before. "And I'll try to stop pushing myself down."

Lawrence smiles, too.

"Is this one of those moments when it's remotely okay if I kiss you?"

Wendy laughs.

"Yeah," she says and nods. "But still with the no-tongue policy, or I'll never talk to you again."

Lawrence laughs briefly, too, and leans forward to plant a completely asexual kiss on Wendy's lips. She smiles, her eyes sparkling, and runs her hand over his cheek before they lean back again. Lawrence sips on his beer, and they're quiet, until he asks a question he's wanted to ask since they got in the car.

"She… She had one of her bad days today… Right?"

"Yeah," Wendy says quietly. "I don't think she afforded to buy cigarettes this morning. She kept telling Lou that she'd thought about getting an abortion when she was pregnant with her, and the only reason she didn't dump her in front of a church when she was born was that you'd refused to give her up…"

Her voice dies out when she sees the hatred growing in Lawrence's eyes. They're quiet for a minute again.

"I don't think Lou knows what an abortion is," Lawrence says then.

Wendy nods. Neither of them has to point out that that doesn't exactly make things better.

"Do you know the stuff on the test now?" Wendy asks after a few seconds and finishes the last of her beer.

"Yeah," Lawrence says with a tired chuckle, "but Jesus, I've never hated World War II more than when I have to understand exactly what happened in it and why…"

Wendy smiles, sincerely as usual, but still with a shadow over her eyes.

"That's good."

Lawrence looks at her. He knows she's going to say something negative soon. He knows her that well.

Wendy sighs and bows her head, shaking it at her own stupidity.

"I'm sorry," she says and turns to him, leaning her elbow against the back of the car seat. "I know I have absolutely no right to be jealous, since you'd get crazy if the only people you hung out with were me and your family. You've made a new friend, and that's good, I'm happy for you. There. That's it. I'll stop now."

Lawrence chuckles and turns to her, too. He knew they'd have this conversation sooner or later. It's weird to him, too. Wendy's been his only support for fifteen years, suddenly having someone else is basically life-changing.

"Wendy," he says, making sure to have eye contact with her. "You don't have to be happy that I've met Adam. Not even you can love me so much that you only want good things for me if it means that I spend less time with you."

Wendy laughs, in that happy-sad way that you do when you talk about something difficult.

"It's okay to be jealous," Lawrence goes on. "If you'd have someone else, trust me, I'd lose my goddamn mind. But…"

He pauses, because he's not sure what to say. This is going to have to be where he explains his and Adam's relationship, and how's he supposed to do that?

"When I'm with Adam, I feel _normal, _you know?" he finally blurts out, throwing his hands out. "I feel like a _teenager! _I can laugh about stupid things and study for tests and hell, I can actually forget that I live in a trailer with a mother that I hate, if just for a second! And I feel like I deserve that, because this…"

He pauses and gestures randomly, pointing to nothing and everything, to their lives, the whole situation.

"This is not normal!" Lawrence almost yells, and laughs desperately. "For fucks sake, Wendy! We've never had a conversation that doesn't concern what we have to do to survive through the week, or were you're going to sleep tonight! We're sitting in a car because we can't be at home, since my mother's banging some guy she doesn't know! She's a whore, and your mother left you at the playground!"

Wendy throws her head back and laughs, louder than he's ever heard her laugh before, and Lawrence can't help but laugh, too. Wendy gasps for air for a few seconds, before she can finally pull herself together long enough to say:

"I live on the street, and you live in a trailer!"

Lawrence breaks down in laughter again, and Wendy slaps her hands together and giggles until her eyes sparkle, with tears of laughter, or just tears.

It's so stupid. Their lives aren't sad right now, they're just stupid. And Lawrence is thankful for that, because he's never been able to laugh at it before. Just to cry.

It feels weird, like liberation, a weight falling from his chest.

How could they ever let someone steal their laughter from them?

After a while, they calm down, their hysterical cackle turn into a soft giggle, and Wendy gathers herself up to put a hand on his.

"You do deserve it," she says steadily, meaning every word. "Don't ever let me think anything else just because I don't have someone like Adam."

Lawrence squeezes her hand back. Wendy smiles warmly.

"You can probably go back now," she says then. "It usually doesn't take more than ten minutes with her johns, right?"

Lawrence chuckles.

"No," he says. "But if I go in there now, I'll probably hit her in the face with a frying pan, and if I stay in here, I'll wake up at four because of the sunlight, which is a pretty good hour if I want time to go home, sleep for two more hours before Lou wakes me up, make them breakfast and walk to school."

Pause. She puts his head on his shoulder.

"Plus," Lawrence adds, "I actually miss… Spending every day and every night with you. But with school, and Adam, and Lou and Daniel… There's not enough time…"

Wendy lifts her head from his shoulder, looks him in the eye.

"There's never enough time," she says. "Never enough."

Then she climbs into the backseat of the car, and Lawrence follows her. She wraps the blanket from his bed around both of them, and where they lie, they're pressed together so tightly that Lawrence has to put one arm around Wendy's waist just to have enough room for both of them. They fall asleep pretty quickly, but until he does, Lawrence enjoys every second of the strange, sad thing he shares with Wendy. Just as much as he enjoys being perfectly normal with Adam, actually.

**Pretty useless chapter, I know. I just figured that it'd be pretty weird if Wendy didn't have some kind of reaction to Lawrence's friend-adultery. XD So, review and all, you know the drill! **


	14. Save What Can Be Saved

**A/N: Yay, an update! Damn, I never get sick of saying that. It's a damn depressing one, though, so don't read it if you're already in a bad mood! Be sure to do it if you're in a good one, though… We can't have a bunch of happy people running around! XD **

**14: Save What Can Be Saved**

Lawrence is almost always prepared for the winter. As prepared as he can be, at least. He never is physically, since that kind of preparation is expensive, but at least he's got his mind set on it. No suppression, no denial, just a very determined knowledge that he doesn't like but he knows he can't get out of, like when you've just gotten the letter that says you're going to the dentist: _These next couple of months are going to suck. _

It's ironic. A while back, Lawrence told Wendy that what he loves the most about hanging out with Adam is that he doesn't have to worry about whether or not he's going to survive to tomorrow. And just like he also told her, he feels like he deserved that after fifteen years of a life that should never be normality to anyone, and he probably does, since everyone keeps telling him that he needs to _calm down _and he needs to _let go of some responsibility _and he needs to just fuck his family and just relish in the sweetness of having a rich friend.

He did that. For a few months. And look what happened.

"Excuse me," Lawrence says politely. "Do you have some spare change?"

The passing by man feels around in his pockets for a second and finds some coins he places in Lawrence's hand.

"Good luck, kid."

Lawrence nods.

"Thank you."

Lawrence puts the new coins in his pockets, it rattles hopefully, and after sitting on the curb for another hour, he dares to take them out and count them. About two dollars and twenty cents.

Lawrence gets up and walks off to the tiny, raw-cold supermarket a few blocks down. There he gets an apple each for him, Lou and Daniel, tries to go out but turns around and buys one for mom, too. There's still some love left in him for her, or maybe it's just pity.

Then he goes back home. Lou's lips are blue, Daniel's started coughing, and Lawrence wants to cry and kill himself at the same time, but chooses not to think about it and instead cut the apple to pieces so it's easier for Daniel to eat with a sore throat, and then he makes him some tea with honey that he found in the back of the cupboard and that's so old that he has to use a knife and stab some sugary splinters out of the rock-hard and stale on the bottom.

"Are we going to die?" Lou asks quietly that night, when Lawrence has lit a fire in the trash can, and Lawrence doesn't answer, because for the first time since she was old enough to ask questions, he can't promise her that they won't.

Daniel is sick, and Lou is cold. And it's all because Lawrence has been busy running around with butterflies and unicorns and thinking of himself instead of them, and fuck, he _knew _that this winter would be harder than most others, that they wouldn't get off the hook just because there were some warm days a few weeks ago, he could've done something about it instead of running around like a little moron and gluing egg cartons to walls! He could've _done _something!

"Can't we stay with Adam?" Lou then asks and snuggles closer to Lawrence.

Lawrence stares blankly into the fire.

"We're not going to see Adam anymore, Louise," he says.

He only calls her Louise when they talk about something serious. But just like most of the other times he's done that, he mostly focuses on being strong for her.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Predictably, though, it only takes a few days until Adam shows up at Lawrence's door. Absolutely furious, and his face so red that he doesn't even seem to need that jacket that he's so safely snuggled up in.

"Lawrence, what the fuck is up with you?" Adam hisses and puts his hand on the open door, like he's expecting Lawrence to slam it shut. "Where the hell have you been all this time?"

"Here," Lawrence answers.

Adam takes his hood down. Lawrence looks at his jacket. It's thick and warm, a sure protection against the snow that's blowing sharply through the air. Both Lou and Daniel could fit in it at the same time, and Lawrence supposes he should be jealous, but he isn't. He doesn't know why, but he isn't. Maybe it's for the same reason as he isn't worried about Lou who hasn't eaten since yesterday, or about Wendy who he hasn't seen in days, or mad at mom who's done what she always does when the winters get bad and fixed someone she can live with in exchange that she blows him every morning or something.

Or he should be scared. Scared for his little brother who's lying on his bed with every blanket in the trailer wrapped around him and barely breathes and who Lawrence can't even get to drink the tea he tries to force into him anymore and who Lawrence can't even look at anymore because he knows that he's going to die.

Maybe Lawrence should feel all that.

But he doesn't.

"Couldn't you have just dropped by?" Adam keeps scolding. "Christ sake, I've been worried!"

"I'm sorry," Lawrence says flatly.

Adam looks at him, and his anger seems to fall from him like water after a shower. He's starting to notice that something's wrong now.

"Is everything okay?" he asks, in a still angry tone, just for the sake of it.

"Sure," Lawrence says.

Adam looks at him with a slight frown. Then he tries to look past Lawrence into the trailer, and when he realizes that he can't do that since Lawrence is that much taller than him, he just grabs his arm and pulls him outside.

"What's going on?" Adam says and shuts the door behind Lawrence. "Just tell me what's going on."

Lawrence shrugs, chuckles slightly and throws his hands out, to the tiny, sharp flakes of snow that are swirling around them.

"I don't know if you've noticed," he says and looks Adam straight in the eye, "but this is one hell of a winter. I live in a trailer. And unlike my mom, people aren't so desperate for my blowjobs that I can find an apartment."

Everything he's done. Everything he's done for his family.

"There are no people on the street, so I can't beg for money," Lawrence goes on, speeding up. "I've stripped these fucking streets bare for cans to recycle, I won't get welfare until the next _fucking _month, I've looked for a job in every fucking store within the closest ten blocks, but they have nothing."

The looks mom's johns give Lou on their way out. Like they want to do her, too.

"This isn't much of a problem any other part of the year," Lawrence finishes off. "But now, it's all this, _and _it's cold! I have no food, I have no heat, Daniel's sick and we have no health insurance, and…"

He stops abruptly. There's a thick ball in his throat, it freezes in the cold.

Adam hasn't said a word until now. He doesn't say anything now, either, but when Lawrence bows his head and puts a finger on each of his eyelids, Adam hesitatingly lifts his hand, like he's not sure if he's allowed to do this, and puts it on Lawrence's shoulder. Lawrence appreciates that more than he can say, and if he said anything at all right now, he'd cry, anyway. Adam's defrosted his numbness somehow.

Lawrence lifts his head after a few seconds. Adam doesn't take his hand away.

"Would you lose respect in me if I started turning tricks?" he says, and Adam laughs, even though everything's really too miserable for that.

"Come on," Adam says and slaps Lawrence's shoulder one last time before he puts his hand on the door handle. "Let's go inside."

Lawrence nods, even though he'd gladly leave this part completely up to Adam. He still doesn't want to look at Daniel.

Adam opens the door, and a cloud of stuffed air that hits him in the face is basically the only thing that separates the indoor climate from the outdoor one. It's just as cold on both sides of the walls on the trailer.

"Adam!"

Lou's dead eyes get a spark in them when she sees Adam's face, and she rushes up from her huddled position by the kitchen table and runs up to him. Adam picks her up and hugs her, and Lawrence feels a moment of blissful gratitude for the fact that Lou has another somewhat mature person in her life.

"Your jacket is so soft!" Lou exclaims and wraps her legs around Adam's waist.

Adam grins and clasps his hands behind her back.

"I'll tell you what," he says. "In… Twenty years, or so, when Lawrence is a big-shot doctor, he'll buy one of those for you, too."

Lawrence blushes, and Lou laughs.

"You think so?"

"I know so," Adam says and puts her back down. "Now…"

He looks around without finding Daniel, turns to Lawrence and Lawrence points to the heap of blankets on the bed. Adam walks up to it, throws the blanket aside, and even though Lawrence is sure he was prepared for worse, Adam gets a tortured look on his face that Lawrence hasn't seen there before.

"Jesus…" Adam mutters and feels Daniel's forehead. "Jesus Christ… Okay…"

He bends down over the bed and puts his ear to Daniel's chest. Daniel's head has fallen to the side, and a sharp pang of hurt shoots through Lawrence's heart.

He looks dead.

"Jesus, kid," Adam says and straightens up, unzips his jacket. "Come here… We'll take care of this…"

He safely wraps Daniel up before he lifts him up. Lawrence immediately sees where he's going with this, so he tells Lou to put on her shoes and jacket while he does the same. Adam waits for them. Lawrence doesn't even want to cry anymore, everything inside him is tightened up like he's expecting a punch, the next hard punch amongst the ones the world has already given him.

"Can we pick up Wendy on the way?" he asks.

Adam nods.

"Sure. Now, let's go."

Then he opens the door.

The cold is like a slap in the face. Lawrence barely reflects over it, though, and Adam doesn't seem to, either, even though he's just wearing a t-shirt now. Lou's wearing sandals that are worn down at the toes and Lawrence knows she's freezing, but she doesn't make a sound. Just puts her tiny hand in Lawrence's and walks.

It's like a pilgrimage. Lawrence will always remember it like that. Adam walking next to him, with Daniel in his arms. And Lou on the other side, her teeth clattering and her gaze somewhere far away, not complaining at all, only whining slightly when a hard wind knocks against them.

It's amazing that they don't get frostbitten. The cold creeps into Lawrence's very core, but he doesn't even feel it. Just like he doesn't feel the funny looks he gets from the people passing them, the two basically summer-dressed teenagers and the raggy-doll-looking girl walking next to them. Let them stare, let them gawk until their goddamn eyes fall out, because he doesn't feel it. What he does feel, what is his armor against the wind stronger than any jacket is that one thought: This_ we're going to win. _

Lawrence has a fairly good idea where Wendy stays when it's this cold, so they find her quickly, about fifteen minutes away from home. She's sleeping in an unlocked car in a garage where most cars get placed when their owners aren't planning to get them back. It's probably warmer here than in Lawrence's trailer, but when he sees her stepping out of the car, it's pretty obvious that the winter hasn't been easy on her, either. She's pale as a ghost, her arms look like white spider legs.

Lawrence gives her a quick hug and explains the situation. Wendy just nods, and when she looks up, her eyes lock with Adam's. Adam grins in that way that Lawrence has learned turns any girl into jerky, even in times like these.

"You're Wendy, right?" he says.

"Yeah," Wendy answers with the first hint of a smile Lawrence has seen in a while.

Adam nods.

"I'm Adam," he says. "We'll shake hands when mine aren't full."

xxxxxxxxxxx

Lawrence isn't sure how far it is to the hospital. To him, it seems like they walk for hours, but it probably would even if the damn thing was next door. His feet are numb when he finally sees the sign at the end of the street.

They don't say a word for the whole walk. Adam is too focused on his assignment to lead them all to safety, and Lawrence feels too much, the chilling down to the bone and the fear, and also this new one that he's only felt once or twice in his life, the one where he feels like he belongs to a group, there's a community that's his, that he needs to survive and that he doesn't have to be ashamed of needing.

When they finally stumble through the sliding doors of the hospital, it's like sinking into a warm bath, and the nurses who run up to them when they hear sounds at the door don't seem sure of who's in need of care. Adam hands over the bundle of fabric that's Daniel, and then he gives Lawrence twenty bucks and orders him to get food for himself, Wendy and Lou.

After they've eaten, a doctor walks up to them and says that Daniel has pneumonia on both lungs, and that it's bad, but it's treatable. He finishes the sentence with saying that he's going to have to see their insurance card, in a tone that implies that it's about as probable that they have one as it is that Daniel could be cured with some Twinkies, and Adam gets a look on his face could've burned hole in a safe.

"Okay, buddy, you listen to me now," he growls and takes a step closer to the doctor. "I would ask you to ask yourself how you can sleep at night when people who are dressed like it's fucking March in this weather walk in with a damn near dead kid, and you treat us like Ted Bundy came in here and asked if he could hide his latest victim in your closet."

He pauses to catch his breath. The doctor already looks like he's world is being shaken in the foundation, but Adam is nowhere near finished.

"But I'm not going to ask you that," Adam indeed goes on, "because said almost dead kid needs help, and he's lucky enough to not even know that you're an asshole. So instead, I'm going to ask… No, I'm going to _tell _you this: Get your patronizing ass back in that room and _treat _that boy! We've walked for forever through what felt like a wind tunnel blowing Slushy, and once again, we're not exactly suited up, so trust me, we care about him enough to say that whatever you want to treat him, you can have it. And I can afford it. I don't look like much, but my parents have accounts all over America, and I hate them just about enough to steal from them, I have a credit card, I have a checkbook, I have my own fucking _pen, _and I'll give it to you! Just go back inside and _treat _him! Okay?"

Daniel gets admitted for the night. The doctor asked Adam for money upfront, but Lawrence thinks that's just for the sake of it. He would've given Daniel treatment either way. That's just what Adam does to people.

They stay for the night, partly because Lawrence is too worried to leave until Daniel wakes up, and partly because if they take Lou home in this cold, she's going to get sick, too. She falls asleep in Adam's lap just minutes after she's finished her dinner, and Wendy collapses on Lawrence's shoulder shortly after that. Adam and him stay awake for a while, watching people coming in, bleeding, fainting, or coughing even harder than Daniel did. So many more people coming in than there are leaving.

So many people Lawrence should save. It almost makes him cry.

"Adam?" Lawrence says after a while.

"Yeah?"

"I wish you were my brother."

Adam smiles inwardly. Doesn't want to show how warm that makes him inside.

"That's just because then you'd have my rich parents," he mumbles.

Lawrence smiles, grateful that he has someone who can ruin every serious moment, since he already has too many of them. Then Adam leans his head against Lawrence's other shoulder and falls asleep, and Lawrence feels for the first time in a long time like he doesn't have to cry.

Just that feeling is such a luxury to him that he could spend the rest of his life in the waiting room of Harlem Hospital Center.

**Aw, what would sweet moments be without an Adam who ruined them… XD **


	15. So Perfect In A Strange World

**A/N: Gah, I know… I'm the updater from hell, aren't I? XD Well, I blame school. It just HAD to start again, didn't it… Anyway, about the chapter: It's pretty much a gap-filler, and more or less useless and boring. But as always, I'll compensate with some juiciness in the next chapter. It'll be fun! **

**A/N#2: And this is important: I AM GOING TO CHANGE MY PENNAME after I've posted this in all my ongoing stories, so my readers know about it. I pretty much took the one I have now because it was available and accurate, but it's also long and annoying, so I'll change it to SALJStella. (That's Sawyer-Adam-Lawrence-Jack-Stella. My four favorite boys and me. XD) **

**15: So Perfect In A Strange World**

Daniel regains consciousness the next morning. Lawrence has probably never hugged anyone as tight as he does when he sees those blue slits squinting against him, and even Adam looks pretty touched. They don't leave the hospital until two days later, when Daniel's been kept for observation and they've given him a prescription for penicillin. They pass the time by stacking food from the cafeteria to have when they get home, and Adam tries to teach them all gin, but eventually realizes that it's pretty far over Daniel's level, and then he gives up and instead creates a new card game, mainly about a war between the jacks and the kings. Wendy adds a subplot of the queens having affairs with the jokers.

Mom is home again when they come back. She does ask where they've been, but when Lawrence answers that they've been to the hospital, she doesn't ask anything else. Just that is probably more than she can handle, and Lawrence knows she sees the pills he forces Daniel to take with every meal. Or three times a day.

But it does get better after that, the weather calms down and they get their welfare check. It's like Lawrence has been tested if he can handle the absolute worst thing that can happen to him, and now that he's proven that he can, things can be okay again.

Lawrence thinks that thought when he stands outside the trailer and feels the first hints of spring blowing against his face. At that moment, he believes in God.

School starts again. Lawrence is happy about that for about a week, before he feels that cold ball in his stomach just by looking at the gates of the damn thing, before those thoughts pop back up like and he gets so scared that he can barely breathe.

The tests are okay. Most of the time. Sure, there are times when he either just sits there and stares stupidly at a question he knew the answer to ten minutes earlier or runs out to the bathroom and makes weird, gurgling, slurping noises but usually without having anything to throw up. But those are just occasional.

"If you don't calm down, I'm going to call your mom," Mr. Salin says one day when the teachers have forced Lawrence to his office to clear out the "situation," as they call it.

Lawrence furrows his brows.

"You know that won't do anything, Mr. Salin."

Mr. Salin puts his pen to his lip, sighs heavily and thinks through the options he has now that he apparently can't use a line that's so common that he probably said it to Lawrence more out of reflex than anything else. Then he looks at Lawrence, those black bugs glimmer with consideration so big and so distant that it's almost threatening.

"You're a good student, Lawrence," he says slowly. "The problem is that you're too aware of it. And that you have too much to protect, of course."

He's quiet for another moment. Lawrence isn't sure if he's expected to answer.

"If you don't calm down, I'm going to tell Adam," Mr. Salin then says. "And we both know how that would end, right?"

Lawrence chuckles.

"He'd push me up with sedatives if he had to."

Mr. Salin smiles warmly and then waves his trashcan-lid-sized hand to hint Lawrence to leave.

The teachers don't take any initiatives to change him after that. They probably see it all, the dark circles under his eyes and the hint of a screeching despair in his voice those rare times when he has to ask them why he only got a B on his last assignment.

But his results are good. It's so hard for a teacher to tell a student to stop doing the thing that gives him good grades.

Lawrence doesn't want their pity. He doesn't expect it, either He's not sure why he gets just as disappointed every time he leaves the classroom without anyone calling him back to have a talk about his life.

There's just that little voice in the back of his head, calling out the one thing he still hasn't given up, or sold to get money for food: _See me! _

That's all he ever wanted. He wants to be seen.

In one of the geography classes, the very human instinct of needing sleep overcomes all the inhuman things Lawrence has to do, and he collapses silently into his notebook. After class, the teacher asks him to stay for a minute. She says that she's noticed that he's seemed to be very tired lately, and asks him if there's anything he wants to tell her. If there's something at home affecting the studying results. Lawrence is absolutely horrified at the idea that anything would affect his studying results, so he says no. Then he goes home and studies for three hours straight until Lou tugs on his arm and asks if he wants to share a hot dog she managed to beg from a cart down the street.

Adam lives an okay life during the following semester. That's all it's ever been, even though it's slipped down from that on numerous occasions. Those times when his father hits him or Claire annoys him more than usual by getting a high grade on an assignment or a hug from their mother, his okay goes to pitch black that fills his very soul inside out.

Adam doesn't talk much to Lawrence about it. He asks about it sometimes when Adam shows up with new bruises at school, but Adam just says that nothing's happened. The risk is that he's said it so many times that Lawrence should start to get that there definitely is something.

It doesn't bother Adam that he doesn't feel comfortable discussing things like these with Lawrence. What worries him is that he sees the affect this has on Lawrence's ability to open up. He's always thought of their relationship as a one-way street when it comes to sharing emotions, but every so often, he sees that something is wrong, even deeper marks under Lawrence's eyes, classes before lunch when he's pale all the way into his lips, and doesn't tell Adam about it. Their mix of comfortable silence and Lawrence talking, almost shyly, about what he doesn't dare to tell anyone else has been replaced with hollow words, the ones written with a white pen and that fades away as soon as they're said. Yapping away about bullshit.

If there's anything Adam doesn't want, it's that.

"I saw Claire last night," Adam therefore says one night when they're on their usual walk. "She'd been out on a pep rally, and some of her friends had shot up with vodka in the bathroom. She'd drunk a little, too. Not like she was… Hammered out of her mind, but by the time she got home, you could still tell she'd had a few."

Lawrence doesn't answer. Adam knows he listens anyway.

"I've come home drunk," Adam says after a pause, and Lawrence chuckles. "I've come home fucking _wasted. _More than once, it was on booze I've stolen from them. A few times, it was with a girl, too, even though I learned quickly that when I did that, I didn't get laid anyway, dad chased her off. And with me, dad knocked me from room to room and yelled for twenty minutes before he was happy."

Lawrence nods. Adam isn't used to this feeling. It almost feels good.

"But with Claire, it was just cute. Mom just cooed something about how it was good that she'd waited this long to have her first shot, tucked her in and was ready with coffee and a fucking all-you-can-eat-breakfast the next morning."

Lawrence nods again.

"You're sister's one of those incredibly cool girls, isn't she?"

Adam scoffs.

"Very much so."

"That kind you hate?"

"Yes, that exact kind," Adam says with a tired grin.

That's all it takes. Adam really shouldn't have let it gone that far.

If all he has to do to keep his friendship with Lawrence the way it is is to let him in every once in a while, that's what he's going to do. It's not harder than that.

That's another thing that just goes on during the following semester. What they have. Whatever it is.

Their relationship used to be new and exciting, full of conflicts, and later on was that phase where Adam felt it taking up more and more of his life and his fear. And now, things just kind of… Are.

They go out every night, or almost every night. They stay in and study just to keep Lawrence calm. One night, Lawrence gets a cold, and then Adam sits with Wendy by his bedside and they've made instant noodles and even though Lawrence can eat them by himself, Adam holds the fork in front of his mouth and says that here comes the chew-chew-train, and Lou teases Lawrence about that for days to follow.

It's insane that someone can mean this much. At least in Adam's world. Everything's been black up until now because that's he way he's wanted it, black hair, black clothes, black right down to the soul, and Lawrence doesn't make it light, but he makes it grey, and that's more than most people has managed to do up until now.

Or, what "most people." No one's really tried.

Lawrence is close, closer than he knows. Adam's dangerously close to spilling everything to him. And there is one night when they get drunk, or, Adam gets drunk and Lawrence gets _tipsy, _and Adam clings around Lawrence's neck and slurs about how much he _likes _him, man, he really does, and he doesn't say that because he's drunk, Lawrence can't think that. But it stays at that. Lawrence can know how much he likes him, and telling him everything else isn't as horrible of a thought as it should be, either. As weird as that sounds.

Lawrence is his only friend. He's basically his brother. And it should be able to stay at that, it really should. Adam doesn't want anything more than that. He can't afford to mess up what they have. It's everything to him, too precious, too big, and he can't blow it on just some stupid impulse.

It's just that one goddamn night.

**Yay for cliffhangers! XD **


	16. All Kinds Of Love

**A/N: Hi, everybody! You remember how I said that this fic wouldn't contain any slash? Well… That was my intention, but one of my darling ChainShipping-friends pitched this idea on this chapter for me, and… Yeah. XD So, this chapter is for Sarita, who plants all these annoying ChainShipping-ideas in my head! What are you, one of the Inception-guys? O.o**

**16: All Kinds Of Love**

The music doesn't even help anymore. Adam moans and throws his body back on the bed.

This room is too small, he can't breathe in here. There's no use going to Lawrence, they have a test tomorrow and the probability that he'd do anything but study tonight is damn near none-existent. He doesn't want to go to his usual favorite place, the mere thought of picking up some random girl suddenly makes him sick.

Adam doesn't want to go outside, but he also knows he wants to go anywhere but here. So in lack of a better option, he gets up from his bed and goes to the living room. Mom's sitting there on the couch. Next to Claire. And dad.

For a second, Adam thinks that Claire looks unhappy. But he doesn't reflect much on it.

Without reflecting much on this, either, Adam takes a cigarette that he begged from a guy on the street out of his pocket. Already then does he see something flaring up in dad's eyes, but when Adam lights it, he stands up from the couch. Polite smile, but such cold eyes.

"You can't smoke in here, Adam."

The evil genius in Adam's chest snickers.

"Are you afraid I'm going to get cancer, dad?" Adam says sweetly and leans against the doorpost.

"I don't give a shit if you rot away like the little scum you are," his dad answers just as sweetly. "But the smell sets in the curtains."

Adam grins, even though he's not very amused, and blows out a big puff of smoke. Try not to let it show that the smokes make him feel pretty sick, too.

"Claire's smoking, too," Adam says and nods towards Claire, who blushes briefly. "You've seen her standing out here with a cigarette, and she's younger than me. Why don't you care about that? Why don't you love me as much as her, dad?"

He uses his fist now, the whole world turns white when Adam's head is knocked back. The blood is salty. And nothing is fulfilled.

"Get out of here, you little faggot."

Adam drops the cigarette on the carpet. His father just gets one, burning look before he turns around and walks outside, slams the door shut and hears the stupid little paining falling from the wall in the hall.

The evil genius is happy. And that's better than nothing. The problem is that Adam still feels like nothing.

He won't even exist anymore if he doesn't do something.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Adam is outside Lawrence's door half an hour later. He gets so relieved by seeing him that he almost starts to cry, even though Lawrence looks like his head might explode if Adam asks him to leave the schoolbooks for a longer period of time. And even though his expression gets downright horrified when he sees how Adam looks.

"Hey, man," Adam says and hopes that his voice sounds normal. "You want to take a walk?"

"I have to study," Lawrence answers out of reflex. "What the fuck happened to your face?"

"Nothing," Adam says, and _god, stop being such a girl and get it together_. "Please? I really want to get out. I… I can't be home right now, you know."

Lawrence rubs his forehead, glances back into the trailer. Then he sighs heavily.

"I'll get my jacket. But," he adds when he sees Adam's relieved look, "only if you tell me what the hell is going on. I'm sick of you turning up with bruises and I'm not allowed to ask how they got there."

Adam feels his heart dropping, but nods obligingly after just a few seconds. He'd really do anything to get Lawrence to come out with him tonight.

"Are they going to be okay?" Adam asks while Lawrence steps outside and locks the trailer behind him.

"Yeah," Lawrence says and zips up his jacket. "Mom's having one of her good days. But now, would you tell me what's happened?"

Adam smirks and starts walking. It's amazing how he's already starting to lighten up.

"You never said when I had to tell you."

Lawrence stops in his tracks and gives Adam a downright hateful glance. Adam cracks up and grabs Lawrence's arm.

"I will tell you, you stubborn little bitch. But we've got to get me cigarettes first, I ran out of my last one when I tried to piss off dad."

Lawrence grumbles something and keeps walking.

"There's a store over there on the corner," he says and points. "Wait." He stops again. "Is it your dad that's…"

Adam smiles, even though he feels those fucking tears welling up again.

"After the cigarettes, Larry."

They walk into the store. The fluorescent lights are humming in the ceiling, and the floor is sticky under their feet. The store clerk's half-asleep by the counter. Adam looks for the cigarettes, and almost laughs when he sees them stacked next to the beer. Honestly, do they think people _won't _steal them?

It's a goddamn setup, too easy to miss out on, especially with the evil genius still not satisfied. And he doesn't have any money, anyway. He turns to Lawrence.

"Wait here," he mumbles and starts walking. Not unexpected at all, Lawrence grabs his sleeve. He looks horrified.

"What are you going to do?" he hisses, and adds before Adam has time to answer: "Like hell I will! I'm coming with you."

"Don't be stupid," Adam bites back. "You're too jittery. And I need someone to hold the door."

"Adam," Lawrence mumbles, with emphasis on every word. "I'm coming with you."

Adam rolls his eyes and yanks his sleeve out of his grasp.

"Whatever. Come on."

They walk together up to the cigarettes, Lawrence is almost stepping on Adam's feet because he's so nervous. Adam wants to snap something mean enough to make Lawrence go back to the door, but it's too late anyway. They're next to the stack now, and Adam grabs the top pack and slips it into his pocket. Like it's no big deal. Lawrence almost gets annoyed.

It's a completely dead moment right after Adam puts the cigarettes in his pocket. Or, it's really more alive than Lawrence has felt in a long time, with the blood pounding in his ears and the sweat beading on his palms. They're invincible. They're superheroes.

Then he notices the eyes watching them.

"Oh, fuck," Adam hisses when his eyes lock with the store clerk's.

A red-hot and ice cold jolt runs through his body, he knows it too well. Lawrence looks like he's either going to cry or vomit, and even Adam, who went here to forget the fact that everything is miserable, laughs at that, and the whole situation, before he grabs Lawrence's sleeve.

"Run," he blurts out, and that's all the encouragement Lawrence needs.

He's never been able to do anything without being told so, the prissy little bastard.

Lawrence is running. Adam is running. Adam isn't even sure the store manager's following them, he could've easily went back to his half-sedated state already, but that's not important. They're still running, running for the hell of it, running because that's all they can do. All they've ever been able to do. And all they have to help them carry on is a stolen pack of cigarettes in Adam's pocket, a strong set of lungs, and each other.

The weird thing is that right now, even Adam, the goddamn poster kid for dissatisfaction, feels like that's all he needs.

They stop at an intersection. At this point, there's absolutely no doubt that the store manager isn't following them anymore, but they both still look around in fake desperation for a place to go.

"Where the fuck do we go?" Adam yells, and can't hide his smile when he looks at Lawrence.

Lawrence pretends to put his hand over his mouth in despair instead of suppressing a giggle, and points to a doggy alley a few feet to their right.

"There!" he demands and grabs Adam's arm.

They make one last sudden spurt before they duck into the alley, their last chance of freedom, Lawrence who comes in first crashes into a few trashcans and sends a stray cat screeching down the sidewalk, rushing past Adam, who yelps in an extremely feminine way.

Adam doesn't have a trace of breath left in his body, but he somehow finds enough air in his lungs to laugh anyway. He sits down on one of the trashcans, both hands on his knees, gasping for breath, and laughs hysterically, pauses for a second, throws his head back, and laughs again. Lawrence gives him the evil eye, or tries to, at least. It'd be a lot more believable if he hadn't been gasping for breath, too, and, more importantly, obviously struggling not to laugh himself.

"Adam, you goddamn moron," he snaps and slaps Adam's shoulder. "You're going to have enough trouble quitting smoking as it is, but if you start stealing them, not even the costs will be a problem to you anymore!"

This just makes Adam laugh even more. The mere thought that he'd ever quit smoking is hilarious, even outside the situation. Lawrence just shakes his head, but he's getting more and more trouble staying serious.

"It's not funny!" he explodes, and the roar of laughter that Adam lets out then finally cracks him, and Lawrence leans his forehead against Adam's shoulder and laughs, too. And he can't stop.

Maybe because he hasn't done it in so long.

Adam doesn't stop laughing, either. They actually stay like that for a long time, with Adam changing between collapsing with his hands on his knees and laugh silently, and throwing his head back and let it out so loud that it literally echoes between the tall walls of the buildings they're standing between. In fact, it's more fun watching Adam than thinking about what they just did, so Lawrence just looks at him falling back and forth, shaking his head, and giggling like a girl, because it's a liberation.

He hasn't felt like this in such a long time. Like it's okay, okay to not be perfect.

After a while, even Adam calms down. With the laughter, at least, but the adrenaline is still pumping through his system, his fingers are twitching nervously, squeezing the stolen cigarette pack in his pocket.

Then he looks at Lawrence.

Their eyes lock. Adam feels alive for the first time in ages, so maybe it's the feeling of entitlement you get just from that.

Maybe it's that last thing his dad said to him before he kicked him out.

But he doesn't wait for permission, from either himself or from Lawrence, before he steps up to him and plants a chaste kiss on his lips.

Everything else goes away right then.

Adam looks up at Lawrence again, the dark moonlight shines down on him, his face is a blur of shadows and two gleaming eyes. Adam manages to think that this is the first time he's ever made eye contact with someone before kissing them before he does it again.

Lawrence doesn't do much. In fact, he actually recoils. Not the first time, probably out of shock, but the second time, and the third time, but right when Adam leans in again, parting his lips a little, and he thinks _Christ, we're really going to do this, _Lawrence finally responds, the hands that were raised in something that looked like defense melt when they find Adam's waist.

He doesn't know why more than Adam. But for the first time in his life, Lawrence doesn't think about consequences, or reason, hell, he doesn't think at all. He wants it.

He doesn't know how, or why. But by God, he wants it.

Adam's starting to get to his senses, though. Or, not really to his senses, his hands have already traveled up to Lawrence's shoulders, longing for warm skin under the worn fabric, but he's just started to think.

This should be so weird. Lawrence is his best friend, his _only _friend. He's basically his brother. And of course, a bunch of annoying thoughts are ringing through his head, those little voice asking _do I want this? Sure I want this, sure I want to go further? _But he doesn't stop. In fact, those voices drown in the feeling, the warm, aching one settling in his stomach.

He wants. That's what's weird. It's there. The want. He couldn't take it away if he tried.

Adam's stopped pulling back, except for when he has to catch breath for just a moment, a moment that feels longer the deeper they get into this, and there's no hesitation anymore. Just the warmth rising, passionate aggression, the hot and the wet and Lawrence's hands traveling to Adam's hips and Adam's that seem to get a life of their own and go in under Lawrence's shirt, greedy for the feeling of naked skin and him, the feeling of him.

Lawrence is finally getting some control over the situation, but not in the rational, calm, let's-think-this-through-way he usually does. He backs Adam against a wall, holding him tighter, Adam feels the cold of the bricks and the heat of another body, and thinks as their lips crash together again, that he doesn't ever want to leave here, this moment, ever.

Unfortunately, that's also when his senses come back to him.

He knows they can't do this.

Maybe it's the fact that the only sexual experiences have been so pointless that he hasn't even had to try to think of an excuse to whoever he's picked up why he won't be able to start something serious with them. But either way, one single drop of cold lands in the fire of his stomach, and that's enough.

He can't lose what Lawrence and him have. He's stopped trying to deny how valuable their friendship is to him.

"Lawrence…" he breathes between kisses. "Lawrence, Jesus…"

Lawrence pulls back. His hands are still on Adam's hips, and contradictory to what he's going to say, Adam's hands are in Lawrence's shirt.

But Lawrence understands. He always does. And even if he wouldn't, the turned-down eyes and the deep blush on Adam's usually pale cheeks are enough.

Suddenly, the reason why Adam's dad is beating him up is abundantly clear.

**Was it good for you? It was for me! Damn, I've wanted to write something like that between them since forever… They can't even stay away from each other when they don't have the bathroom to blame their horniness on! XD **


	17. Goodbye

**A/N: Okay, I realize that if I want to give my fellow ChainShippers a Christmas gift, the last chapter would've been better… But a post-kissing chapter should be good enough! Merry Christmas, everyone! :D **

**17: Goodbye**

It had been a summer night, much like the one where Adam and Lawrence took that first walk together. But Adam had been alone back then, a lean and skinny boy of maybe thirteen or close to fourteen. He'd been at his favorite place, with the fire in the trashcan and kids a lot older than him tumbling around between the car wrecks.

He'd been staring intently into the fire. He hadn't come there that many times, he didn't know anyone and hadn't quite seen the magic in this yet. He thought about leaving, and then he saw that guy standing on the other side of the fire bin.

Adam doesn't remember what that boy looks like anymore. And he knows that he'd known long before that night. But he does remember seeing a face on the other side of the fire, sort of diluted in the heat waves, remember that warm feeling like a track beam through his chest.

It had all become so obvious right then.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Lawrence has never thought about it. It's never been an option. He's never considered the possibility of homosexuality for himself, not because he's a homophobe, but because to have a sexuality at all, you have to have some kind of experience of sexuality, something that you found attracting, and where the hell would he find that?

All he knows is that the only females in his life are his teachers, his sister, his mother, and a girl that basically is his sister, too. And he knows what happened the only time he's seen her naked.

It had been autumn, about a year before he started school. The water in the trailer had stopped working, and Lawrence, Wendy, Lou and Daniel had become dirty to a level that really was a threat to their health. That's when Wendy had found that garage that she was hiding in that winter day when they were going to get Daniel to the hospital, and it had a hose that you could wash the cars with.

They'd all stepped in there, stripped down, and sprayed each other with the water. It had been devilishly cold, Daniel and Lou had shrieked until it echoed between the concrete walls.

Lawrence still remembers the moment when Wendy took off her soiled Fleetwood Mac-t-shirt.

They probably wouldn't be able to get undressed before each other if they hadn't had such a completely platonic relationship. That's never been more obvious than now.

Lawrence remembers that moment, he remembers the bumps rising on her skin in the cold water and the yellow light from the dirty fluorescent lamps that painted her body in an incredibly unflattering way. The arch at the small of her back. He remembers how her naked body had been the most beautiful thing in the world right then, how it'd been a symbol of divinity, of freedom, skipping school, a world where he could think of these beautiful things, or think about anything that was for _him, _not someone else. It had been a symbol for all that, but not for sex. He couldn't think of her like that, and he didn't even feel like he had to try.

It's always like that. He sees the girls outside the gates of the schoolyard, and he's read his medical journal enough times to know what happens to the human body at his age. These girls should be the purpose of life now, his only ambition should be to make them laugh or cry or moan or whatever, any kind of feeling would be okay. He should want that, but he doesn't. And he's never asked himself why.

Having sexual feelings has never been an option. Being gay has been even less of an option.

Not because he's homophobic. But because Adam means too much to him. Because sex scares him. Because he doesn't have the time.

Plus, he's read somewhere that an average makeout-session burns about 200 calories. Even that's more than he can spare, considering how rarely he eats.

And then he hasn't even calculated how much time it would take from his schoolwork.

xxxxxxxxxxx

The smoke from Adam's stolen cigarette slithers up through the air. Adam watches it, his head leaned against the wall. Lawrence is sitting on the trashcan opposite him. He doesn't look at Adam.

Adam's halfway into his story. This is where the words linger on his tongue a little longer, get a little harder to say. He's never thought of it as a sad story. Not until he's had to watch the face of someone he really cares about when he tells it.

"When I first told him, he didn't really react," Adam says and tries to make his words sound plain. "Just walked into his office and slammed the door, and when he came out, he sent me into my room so mom and him could discuss what to _do about me." _

It wasn't really him who did it, actually. It was Mary who had to gently led him to his room with some sweet excuse why dad didn't want him there. As if Adam hadn't heard him.

_Get that little fucker out of here, I can't stand to look at him. _

He leaves that part out, though.

"At first, they wanted to talk to me about it," Adam goes on. "Not to tell me what they thought; that faggots were disgusting and should either be executed on spot or be put in some kind of rehab, but to tell me that they accepted me just the way I was. They just wanted me to ask myself if this wasn't just a phase. Or, even better, if I'd imagined the whole thing."

_Sweetie, all we're saying is… Boys can get a little confused over who they are, right? They can start thinking that they are… _Gay, _and then after a while, when they've met a nice girl and thought about how much nicer it is to be in a _heterosexual_ relationship, they change their minds. Okay? _

"I think they were waiting for it to blow over," Adam says and takes another drag. _Like a sickness. _"And I just… Fuck, I was a kid, of course I wasn't going to drag home a goddamn boyfriend with eyeliner and a tight shirt. and I saw that they didn't want to talk about it, so I just shut up about it. They probably thought that it had passed. And I sort of thought that… They weren't mad about it anymore. Since they didn't talk about it. So when I was… Twelve or something, we were having dinner, and I said…"

He pauses and takes another drag, tries to get it past that burning knot in his throat.

He hasn't thought about this in such a long time.

"I said I was… In love. Of course you think that thinking that someone is cute is the same of being in love at that age." Bitter humor. "And mom was happy, she asked me what _her _name was, and I…"

_The china crushed against the kitchen wall. Why don't you love me, daddy?_

Another drag. It gives him nothing. And it doesn't help against the feeling that there is a weird, dark thing that wells out in his chest, something from deep within.

"That's when he started hitting me."

He hates the sound of his voice likes this. Like a frazzled guitar string.

Lawrence looks at him now. Whatever he felt about their kiss seems to have blown over. He sees, even when Adam looks away and pretends to scratch his nose. He sees everything.

Adam hears a sigh behind his back, and then he feels Lawrence putting an arm around his shoulder, pulling him into him. Adam awkwardly puts his head on his shoulder.

These moments should happen to the sound of dramatic Hollywood music, not a dry eye in the salon, but it's not really like that for them. Adam can't feel comfortable with such open displays of vulnerability, even if it's with Lawrence, his shoulders are rigid under Lawrence's arm, and his hands are tightly clasped in his lap, it almost looks weird on his usually so casual body. But he doesn't lift his head.

The moments when someone even offers him a shoulder to lean on are rare. He's going to take care of the ones he gets.

Lawrence, on his part, feels a pain that's a lot more for himself than for Adam. Not because he feels sorry for himself, but the opposite. He wants to hit himself in the face.

He's the one of the two of them that shows when he's in pain. He's the drama queen, he bitches and moans and Adam sits back and listens. He's never fully realized how carefully schemed their relationship is until now.

Adam doesn't speak of his feelings much. He's gotten better at it lately, but Lawrence still does most of the talking. He's been so busy talking that when he's said what he has to say, Lawrence hasn't had the energy to ask Adam how he feels, even though he knows he should. Of course he knows that Adam doesn't feel well.

And now, Lawrence looks back at the times when Adam's eyes have been turned down all day to hide to pain, when he's come to school with new bruises, and he's disgusted with himself. The flawless reputation he has on himself feels like the soiled pieces of cloth they used to isolate the trailer this winter.

_I'm supposed to be his best friend. _

Of all the things Lawrence thinks he's supposed to be, this is definitely the most important one.

They sit like that for a while. Adam eventually loosens up, feels his face snuggling closer to the worn fabric of Lawrence's jacket and is, for a brief second, so incredibly, stupidly in love that he could spend the rest of his life like this, but he gets it under control.

Something inside him has melted with the story he just told, and he could spend the rest of his life with the warm tears and the heavy ache that this new feeling brings him, but he can't. Lawrence is too important, and he's too much of a chicken.

After God knows how long, Lawrence turns his head to the side and kisses Adam's forehead. Adam makes a face, but the spell still isn't lifted. Lawrence looks down on him with a small smile.

"Promise me that you won't let him hit you again," he says.

Adam smiles, too and lowers his gaze.

"And how exactly is that supposed to be done?"

Lawrence shrugs.

"Just don't. Hit back. Get out of home when he's there. You can always come to my place. Lou loves to have you there."

Adam scoffs, but regrets it the second he does it. He likes to believe that avoiding his father's beatings isn't that easy, because then he would've done it already. But he doesn't want Lawrence to believe that. It sort of feels like if Lawrence believes it, it's true. He's the optimistic one, after all.

After that, they're quiet again, until Lawrence takes a deep breath and asks the question the logical side of him has wanted the ask since that first touch of Adam's lips.

"So, what are we going to do about this?"

He feels Adam looking up at him. He doesn't answer right away.

"I don't know," Adam says thoughtfully and clears his throat. "I… I think we're just going to forget it."

"Really?"

Adam makes some kind of laugh-sobbing sound and takes his head from Lawrence's shoulder. He has to look at him for this.

"I mean, it's not that I don't… I don't know," with a smile to hide the pain. "It's just that I don't want things to change, because… I…"

All the years before he met him. So empty.

"I don't know how to… _Survive… _Without this thing… That we have."

Lawrence nods, small smile. Something glistens unhappily in his eyes before he looks down again.

"I know. It's weird that we even made it this far without it, isn't it?"

Adam smiles.

"Yeah."

Pause. Lawrence looks up again, a brief second of almost unbearable pain before he puts his hand on Adam's cheek and kisses him again. A short kiss, though very, very sweet.

When they break apart, they remain on the trashcans for a bit before the night gets darker and they get cold, and then they stand up and go back home.

That's it.


	18. The Gap

**A/N: Uuugh, it should be illegal to update this slow, shouldn't it? Sorry it took so long. I should've known, though. Having fun is TOTALLY overrated when you're in high school. XD Anyway, read on! **

**18. The Gap**

They don't mention the kiss after that. Adam doesn't really feel like they have to. He used to be upset about it, tried to pretend that he didn't look at Lawrence's lips way too often when he was talking and like he was thinking of someone else when he was masturbating, but after a while, it just feels stupid. He wants Lawrence, but knows not to pursue it.

He knows he wouldn't be able to live without this. And Lawrence… It just feels like he'd get distracted. He doesn't have time to be in love.

That's the only part of Lawrence that Adam really can't stand. He's so fucking _perfect. _He makes Adam feel dirtier than the rusting mudguards of his trailer.

That's why Adam makes sure to fuck a lot more girls in the backseat of cars than he would actually like to during the rest of the summer holiday. They make him feel dirty, too. But he likes it a lot more when they do it.

All in all, it's with new spirit and a new way to love each other that Adam and Lawrence go through their second year of high school.

In a weird way, there's no better way to describe it other than to say that everything gets a little worse every day. Adam goes to bed every night with a feeling that it's sunken a little deeper into the floor than the last time he slept in it. Why else would it get harder to get up the next morning?

He sees how Lawrence suffers. It kills him. The circles under his eyes, the nervousness, the fidgeting. Leaving the bathroom with his upper lip shiny with sweat.

Adam knows. That's what really sucks. Knowing what's going on, but not being able to do anything about it. He can't force Lawrence to calm down. And it's not like he wants him to get any less ambitious, he wants Lawrence to get out just as much as he does.

He just wants him to be able to eat without throwing up afterwards.

Around the middle of the first semester, Adam notices that Lawrence is definitely developing some kind of condition. He's in a horrible mood most of the time, hisses at Adam for nothing. He can be so hungry that Adam hears his stomach rumble from the other end of the classroom, but when they're having lunch, Lawrence eats like his life depends on it, which it probably does, for the first couple of bites, and then he spends the rest of the break scuffing little pieces of food around on his plate. Like those few bites could fill that void.

Either that, or he eats his whole plate in thirty seconds and then goes to throw up. Always the damn throwing up.

Adam almost has to drag Lawrence to the doctor, but he does get him there. The doctor says that Lawrence has gastritis. Adam doesn't know what that is, but Lawrence does, of course. It's something about stomach acid and stress. Lawrence gets pills, but the doctor says that the only thing that can really turn this around is if he drastically changes his lifestyle.

He's not going to do that. Adam keeps buying him pills, though, and Lawrence doesn't throw up as much for the rest of the semester. Getting him to cut down on the studying could've been the next step, but it doesn't look very bright.

But Adam knows that it's not the studying that's the problem, it's what the studying means to him. It's the look of deep and sincere dissatisfaction that he sees his B+ with. The ups that aren't even almost as big as the downs. He sinks a little every time. Never quite goes back to the same level.

Adam tries to be a good friend. And sometimes gets sick of it and fucks girls in the backseat of cars. They're so much less work than Lawrence is.

And what does that leave Adam in all this?

Adam has a void to fill up, too. It's sort of frustrating, since it seems to get bigger every day. It'd been one thing if he started on the bottom, but now, he seems to be sinking a little deeper into the shit every day. Maybe that's what his bed is really lowering itself into.

He wants to be a good friend. He does. And it's not like Lawrence doesn't care about him, they go over his problems just as much as Lawrence's. The reason why Adam wants Lawrence to shut up half the times he opens his mouth is that whatever he says, he can somehow always connect it to love, or sex, or cigarettes, or alleys. Because wants to be his friend. Because he wants to be more than that.

Adam has discovered that getting into fights is a much better way to deal with emotions than to talk about them with Lawrence. He did that before they met, and now that they're still friends but not the way they used to be, he does it more often than before.

He usually prefers the verbal arguments, since he knows he's got a way with words but that most of the jocks that call him an emo-bitch could take him down in a matter of seconds. But as it turns out, when you're pissed off enough, the odds don't matter.

All that matters are the fists, the nosebleed. Those words being called after him that used to feed the evil genius but now only feed his own self-hatred. The demon under his bed that doesn't give him the urge to go on, rather than whispering all the things he's ashamed of when he can't sleep at nights.

During one of their evening walks, after Lawrence has put a band-aid over Adam's busted eyebrow and they've sat down on the pier watching the autumn leaves in the water, Lawrence says:

"You have to start studying, Adam."

Adam rolls his eyes and looks away.

"I know."

"Seriously," Lawrence says and turns to him. "You won't get out of here if you don't."

Adam doesn't answer. Lawrence didn't expect him to.

"And it's not like you're not smart," he says and tries to capture Adam's gaze. "You'd be good at it if you tried. It's just that if you don't work against the system, you start to flip. But wouldn't you work more against the system if you got out of it rather than living on its welfare?"

That's the only night since they started going out together when Adam and Lawrence part without Adam saying goodbye.

Adam loves Lawrence. But when he starts sounding like them, he hates him more than what should be humanly possible. And he doesn't start studying anytime after that.

He also talks to Lawrence even less.

More than anything, he doesn't let Lawrence see the bruises. They still appear, only less frequently. He's gotten better at staying out of trouble with his dad, but as a result of it, he's had to surrender to him. Had to adjust to a system that he's worked against his whole life. It's a bitterness that burns in him like cigarette ash.

Rather than smoking in front of his dad just to piss him off, he tries to make himself invisible. Doesn't answer when dad politely asks Adam if he's gotten a new healthy dose of AIDS from all his ass-fucking this week, nor when he sits by that fucking dinner table and feels the cheery, venomous comments falling down on him, over his bowed head. Like the headsman's axe over his exposed neck.

Mom still says nothing. Claire sticks up to him most of the time, but her fire is dying out, too. There are limits on how many times you can stand up to someone. Especially if that someone doesn't give you anything back other than sneers and dark glances from turned-down eyes.

One night, when Adam goes to the kitchen to get the food that mom set away from him, since they had people over tonight and he has to stay in his room then as usual, Claire's standing leaned against the counter. The moonlight reflects through the Whiskey in the glass that she's holding. Her makeup is smeared, but not like when she's spent the night away and comes home the next morning with soiled clothes and messy hair. More like it's been smeared by someone else's rough hands. And she doesn't even look at Adam when he walks in.

Adam takes his plate out of the fridge. Tries to think that if she doesn't want to talk to him, fine.

While the plate is spinning in the microwave, they stand quiet. Adam says nothing, Claire says nothing. And she still doesn't look at him.

Adam wishes he could be her brother. That he could actually ask her what's wrong when she looks like this.

"Buy some Lancôme mascara. It sticks better."

He has no idea why he says it, but he does. Claire snaps her head towards him, her eyes are slits and hatefully black in a way he's never seen them.

She almost looks like him. He flinches at the thought.

"Oh, would you just fuck off to your fucking punk records?" Claire sputters out in a completely joyless laugh.

That catches Adam so off-guard that he can't even think of a comeback. Just looms out of the kitchen with the plate in his hand.

Basically, Adam and Lawrence go through their second year without anything to believe in. Not in the future. Not in the present. Not in their families, their school, the society. Not the music.

And what's really bad is that they used to have each other for that.

They're still together. Still them against the world. But now it's more like it's them against the world because they don't have anything else, not because they really want to be together.

They still go on these walks. And they've gone from being something they do because they need time with each other outside of school to stay mentally stable, to something they do to prove that there is still something there.

On these walks, Adam looks at Lawrence and tries to find anything, _anything _that proves that there really is.

He finds a lot. But he's not sure if he finds just enough to make it worth it.


	19. The First Faltering Steps

**A/N: Dang, I've missed this fic! I know, I wouldn't have this problem if I updated a little quicker, but it's not my fault that school hates me! Not that I like it anymore, but school STARTED it! …Uh, anyway, another chapter coming up! :D**

**19: The First Faltering Steps**

Adam and Lawrence take their walk, as usual, on one summer night when the holiday is coming to an end. They're about to start their third year, after spending the summer trying to find their way back to each other. Adam knows that Lawrence is absolutely terrified of this, but they haven't talked about it as much as he'd liked to.

The summer's been okay, though. It's not like it's been one long therapy session for the two of them. Adam still spends a lot of time down in Lawrence's blocks, playing with Lou, going on pilgrimages to different convenient stores with Lawrence and Wendy to get milk, or shampoo, or any of those other things that Lawrence can spend half his time looking for substitutes for rather than asking Adam out loud if he can borrow money.

He thinks that Lawrence gets by. But he wants more than that for him, and that's what he's planning to achieve. No way that he's going to let something as stupid as a kiss let Lawrence go back to "okay" after actually spending about a year living a life worth living. Especially not when Adam knows that all that Lawrence needs to go back to that is… Him.

Adam is okay, too. Things suck at home, he still spends most of his time submitting to his father. But other than that, he's spent the summer trying to think of what he wants to do with his life, as terrifying as that sounds. The second year is when the teachers start getting all wound up about the SATs and college applications, and as much as Adam doesn't want that to affect him (he probably got off easily, though, since he was only there for half of the classes) the teachers' words have started to grow in his head. He won't be able to steal money from his parents forever. And standing by the fire bin on the scrap yard is fun, but not exactly his life's project.

It's weird to think of anything other than feeding his evil genius all of the sudden. But the future is there. For some reason, Adam doesn't plan to let the evil genius be his future.

That's pretty much Adam's thinking trail when he's walking next to Lawrence. When he realizes that it might be time to say something now, he's not sure which one of these pearls of wisdom he wants to share, so he just takes a drag from his cigarette and asks:

"You nervous about starting?"

Lawrence smiles wearily. Adam feels something inside him loosening up right about then.

"Not really," Lawrence says and kicks a pebble on the ground. "Not on my own behalf, at least. I guess it'll come in a week or so, but lately, I've been more worried about you."

Adam grins.

"You're such a sweetheart, you fucking prick."

Lawrence chuckles, but quickly turns serious. Oh, it's one of those talks.

"It's our final year, Adam. You know I absolutely love your little punk-rock-rampages, but… It's not a future. You're smart. And studying isn't half as bad as it will be if you ignore it forever."

Lawrence hasn't dared to bring this up since the last time he did it, when Adam got so mad that it sent the slight downfall of their relationship even further down. He half-expects the same thing to happen now, too, since he knows, no matter how much Adam has tried to hide it, that this past year has been pure hell for him in many aspects, and that he wants Lawrence to be there for him. Not sound like _them_.

But now, rather than rolling his eyes, Adam just smiles coyly. Like he's a little ashamed of himself for sounding like them, too.

"I know," he says, and means it this time.

He laughs out loud when he sees the way Lawrence looks at him. It loosens up even more in him now.

"I know," he repeats. "I won't be a goodie little two-shoes like you, but no way I'm doing the year again. I'm going to pass on all the subjects, and I expect you to help me study. But I'm not going to college unless I have to. I have a plan."

Lawrence raises his eyebrows, and Adam laughs again. He feels oddly giddy now that he's actually telling someone about this for the first time. Like it's almost real.

"You have a plan?"Lawrence says, with only a hint of sarcasm. "Adam Faulkner, with a _plan? _Please…"

Adam shakes his head and takes another drag.

"I'm telling you," he says and drops some ash. "I just need to rob my parents a little, buy some stuff and get started."

Lawrence smiles and runs his fingers through his hair. He tries to act disbelieving, but they both know that he's always had a hard time not believing in Adam.

"How do you know it's going to work out?"

Adam's grin gets wider.

"I don't."

When Lawrence smiles back at him, it loosens up even more, hell, it might even fall off completely.

"What do you have to buy?"

Adam just throws it out there, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, which it almost is to him by now.

"A camera."

xxxxxxxxxxx

Adam can't explain what it is, but it makes perfect sense to him. When he gets his camera, it becomes clearer than ever that he's always seen the world in shots, these separate, one-by-one moments that would be so beautiful if he'd only managed to capture them. And when he gets his first camera, he can.

By the time school starts, Adam more photos than he can fit into his room without his dad noticing. Not that he spends a lot of time in Adam's room, but when new folders appear on Adam's desk, and develops into a huge box under his bed, he makes a dry remarks about how Adam might as well walk around with a huge stamp saying 'GAY' in his forehead, but Adam doesn't care.

He still doesn't bite back at his dad anymore. But there is one thought, probably as much from the evil genius as from himself, every time dad says something like that: _One of these days, one of these fucking days… _

He's not happy. But he's found something inside himself that he didn't know was there. Or, he knew that it was there, but why would he even care to explore it, when life was pointless anyway?

Sort of just to point out the obvious reason why he even dares to get into photography now, most of his pictures are of Lawrence. Lawrence is also glad to go through Adam's pictures with him when he's developed them, tell him which ones he should throw away, which ones are good enough to keep and which ones are good enough to get into The Folder.

The Folder is in fact Adam's portfolio, but Adam doesn't like to call it that. It sounds too serious. Just like he ignores it when Lawrence says that he's good enough to do this full-time. Even though Adam was the one who brought up the idea of him being a photographer, it just sounds too serious. Too big. Photographer. Him being a photographer? Wow. An actual title.

But about a week after the semester starts, Adam sees a job ad in the newspaper, and things get even more serious. He can't go there alone, but tries to maintain at least some of his pride by forcing Lawrence to wait outside the building when he goes into the _office _to talk to the _working manager. _Both very serious things.

Adam answers very politely to the manager's questions, and only curses once, and that just result in a rumbling laughing fit from the manager. When Adam goes outside, his hands are quivering so much that Lawrence has to take him to a nearby diner to get him a calm-down-milkshake.

He gets the call a week after that. Adam has a _job _now, with a contract and all. He gets a paycheck for every photo he takes for that newspaper. It's so weird, and still makes perfect sense. Everything makes sense, as long as Lawrence walks him through it.

As for Lawrence, his way of dealing with the semester starting is wavering. He has days when he handles it just fine, but other days, when Adam sleeps over at his place, he wakes up from Lawrence screaming, and Adam can never get him to explain why. He's not sure if it's nightmares, or woken hallucinations, or just the expectations on the future catching up with him. And he can't help if he doesn't know what it is.

Lawrence still takes his pills for his stomach, thank god. Adam tries to get him to take some new pills just for the stress, the constant anxiety, but even when he manages to force Lawrence to even see a doctor, it becomes painfully clear that no doctor will prescribe antidepressants to a minor without parental permission. Not even at gunpoint.

Adam hates the hopelessness that comes as a package deal when you're friends with Lawrence. His stress is damn near chronic, but Adam can't keep himself from trying to fix it. Even if Lawrence assures him that he's enough as long as he's there, and even though Lawrence works just as hard with trying to fix Adam. He's not sure which one of them is better off. Adam's demons, unlike Lawrence's, are on the outside of him, rather than inside. Which of those is the best, the easiest to overcome?

During the first semester of their third year, both Adam and Lawrence have to accept that it's about getting through. For both of them. They can't demand happiness right now. Not with crappy parents, unresolved love between them, and a high school that has to be graduated. They have to get each other through, and hope that the happiness is waiting on the other side.

Everything's too scary to ask for anything else. The future is out there. They just have to get there alive.

They try not to think about what they're going to do once they're there.


	20. A Lonely Little Ghost

**A/N: My darlings, I ask you to sit down for this: This is a whole chapter about Adam where Lawrence is barely mentioned. GASP, I KNOW! I planned for it to end with Adam going to Lawrence and telling him everything that's happened, but then I figured what the hell, it's long enough, and this chapter is supposed to mainly be about Adam and his family. Don't worry, though, they'll be cuddly again in the next chapter. ;)**

**20: A Lonely Little Ghost**

It's August. School has just started. Adam's motivation is sky-high, probably because they've only had one test this far. With Lawrence's help, he managed to get a C+, and for some reason, he made the mistake of thinking that there was someone at home that would actually be proud of him.

When he went home with his graded test, Adam's cheeks were red from that ridiculous, childish pride that he hadn't felt in a long time, and his mom actually was happy for him. He caught the smile that began to form on her lips before dad opened his mouth.

"Well, what do you expect? A parade in your honor?"

That was it.

Right then, when both mom's and his own smile dropped, Adam also asked himself what he'd expected. But that was only for a second, before the thought that had been ringing in his head for the entire summer vacation returned for the millionth time: _One of these days, one of these fucking days…_

It's not even the evil genie. It's his own constant feeling of mortification.

It's August. School has just started. Adam has saved almost every penny of his _paycheck_ from his _job _- those words are still so big to him - ever since Lawrence sat down with him to make a budget. He's allowed to spend twenty bucks a month on cigarettes, which is about half as much as he usually does, ten bucks on other things, but all the rest goes to his savings, and that's important, because these are the money that are going to get Adam out of here.

This is almost as important to Lawrence as it is to Adam. Because the dark marks under Lawrence's eyes are getting darker, the nights he wakes up screaming are becoming more frequent, and he's not as sure as he used to be that he's going to get out of here.

Adam tells him again and again that if he has to work double to buy Lawrence his own apartment, he will. But Lawrence doesn't even want to hear about that. His priorities are other people first, himself second. As always.

And even if they hadn't been, they're both sure that if they're not both going to make it, one of them damn sure will.

This morning, Adam's reading the apartment ads, as usual. That's his new morning ritual, since he got his restricted budget. Usually, apartment ads can't replace the satisfaction of a morning cigarette, but this morning, he almost chokes on his coffee and snaps up in his chair, and it's hard to tell if it's from joy, fear, surprise or all three.

A studio apartment. Bronx, cooking corner, close to convenient store. And not too far from his _work place, _or from Lawrence.

Adam's hands are shaking when he tears out the ad, folds it gently and places it in his back pocket. He's going to show this to Lawrence when he gets to school, but that goes without saying. Mary walks in while he's finishing his toast. She probably notices that he's excited, but knows not to ask why.

That thought surprises Adam more than it should.

Mary knows when he's excited. She's known him for the majority of his life. She came here when she was sixteen and he was seven, of course she's learned to read him. Hell, she's been kinder to him than most of his family.

Adam watches her as she clears out the dishes that the rest of his family left on the table. She avoids his gaze. She probably thinks he's angry as usual.

"Mary," Adam says softly. "Was this the life you'd imagined when you were a kid?"

Mary looks up. Her green eyes are widened over the simple fact that he's not snapping at her, but when she notices that he's serious and not just playing with her, she smiles absentmindedly and takes the dishes to the counter.

"I didn't _imagine_ much as a kid," she answers as she starts loading the dishwasher. "Mom had kicked me out, I needed work, your parents needed a maid. Not much to complain about, if you ask me."

Adam sighs and walks up to her with his coffee cup and his plate. He feels the apartment ad burning in his pocket.

"Do you want something better for me?" he asks and rinses his dishes in the sink.

Mary snorts and closes the dishwasher, straightens up.

"You've been a quippy little brat since you were twelve, so technically, no," she says and wipes off her hands on her apron.

Adam laughs, and Mary smiles with him. They're quiet for a bit. Adam realizes that he really likes her.

"I didn't imagine much as a kid," Mary repeats and lowers her gaze briefly, like she's not sure if she's allowed to say this. "I knew that you were a dreamer after knowing you for ten minutes. I really can't imagine it not being different for you than it was for me."

She smiles politely, trying to return to her maid role before she's forced to face Adam's father. Then she walks outside, and Adam feels more comforted than he has in years, before he feels the ad burning in his pocket again, and remembers that he's one step closer now. To that place that entices him and terrifies him at the same time.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Adam's surprised how simple it is to get an apartment in his age. He thought that that first ad he found would just lead to him and Lawrence checking out the place, getting rejected, and they'd consider it a warm-up.

But then he got that phone call.

It was much like when he got the call to tell him that he'd gotten his first job, only even greater. He thanked _his landlord - _another big word - for calling, hung up the phone, realized that his hands were shaking uncontrollably, felt tears pressing up behind the eyes but pushed them down, fuck, let's not get that girly and fuck telling his family first, and fuck the fact that Lawrence didn't have a phone in his trailer, Adam gladly power walked all the way to his neighborhood and ran the last mile, because it was less clear that he was crying then, but he didn't care, he really didn't care, his complete lack of care exploded in his chest and rose to the heavens as a golden cloud, it was too beautiful to care, too beautiful for him to hold.

He had to stop running after a couple of minutes, though. His lungs didn't allow it. Damn cigarettes…

The _landlord _seemed to get that it was important that he got this apartment straight away. Adam gets to move in next month. Technically, he still doesn't have enough money in his account to get by on his own, but he's stolen some from his dad to get himself started.

Dad knows this. But seven hundred dollars seems like a low price to pay to get rid off the constant eyesore that for some reason lives in your house. That little triangle of dirt that's always on the windshield, no matter how hard the wipers rub against the glass.

His father hasn't said that. But that's how Adam's interpreting his silence. He's barely spoken to him since he got the news that Adam was leaving. While mom has hugged and kissed him more during the past week than she probably has during the past five years before that, dad has just stood in the background, his hands in his pocket, and his cold eyes locked firmly on Adam. Observing, thinking.

Adam hates that his eyes remind him so much of his own.

It's September. Adam's packing the last of his stuff into boxes. It's a bit painful to try to start a life as far from your old one as possible and still having to bring most of your stuff from the old life with you, but he'll be damned before he wastes money on a whole new decoration. Even though his current bed is going to take up almost half of the new apartment.

Adam straightens up and glances over the boxes in front of him. They aren't that many. Most of them contain his records, one of them his photos. His books only take up one box, too, since the new place doesn't have room for more books than the ones he really loves. His clothes, two boxes. The record player and the camera, wrapped in more bubble wrap than Adam thought existed in the world, one box. The bed separately. He'll take some of his stolen money to buy food and kitchen supplies tomorrow. He's borrowed a car from one of his friends on the scrap yard, Mary's promised to drive him.

Damn. He's organized.

Adam looks at the boxes in front of him that are containing his life. And outside the window that he will never look through again, it's starting to rain.

"Are you all packed?"

Adam startles and turns around. Dad's standing in the doorway, expression controlled as usual, but his lips a thin line.

Adam should be worried about the simple fact that his dad entered a room without making immediate notice. But he's so happy, he's so happy that he's starting anew that he's not even mad at his father anymore.

Later on, he will regret this. But he's too happy right now.

"Yeah," Adam says with a smile and gestures towards the boxes behind him with open arms. "The car's outside, I just have to carry everything down."

Dad nods. He looks too pale. But once again, Adam won't realize this until afterwards.

"You're really going to leave?" with a curt tone.

His voice is usually smooth as silk when he talks to Adam, if they're not fighting. Adam feels his smile dropping.

"That's the plan," he says and tries to sound like he's joking.

A short nod. Adam gets an icing feeling in his stomach.

Now. When it's already too late.

"You're not leaving."

He says it so matter-of-factly. Adam takes an unconscious step back.

"I'm going to leave, dad. The first rent's paid. I'm leaving."

"You're not leaving," dad repeats and takes a step towards him.

Adam backs again, not unconscious at all this time. He swallows and tries to smile, even though he feels a small piece of apocalypse settling in his heart.

"Why don't you want me to leave?" he says, almost laughing, even though his following statement is suddenly so clear that not even the evil genie can be happy about it. "You've hated me since I told you I was gay, you've wanted me gone for six years, and now I'm leaving! Why aren't you happy?"

His father's eyes look nothing like his now. They're black as a snake's, and Adam's…

Adam's eyes have the look of someone who just realized that he's almost as unloved as a person can be.

"_I said you're not leaving!" _

It explodes now, his need for control, and now, when it's too late, way too late, Adam realizes that dad would rather want him dead than somewhere where he can't be controlled. And he doesn't love him. He never will.

Adam ducks away from the first hit and runs towards the living room, trying to run even though his recent insight has slowed his heart, chilled it down so he can barely move his legs.

No one's loved him. No one's loved him for six years.

The next second, he feels his dad's body weight crash down on him as he's tackled on the living room carpet. A white-hot pain covers his vision before he feels his face pressed into the carpet, he inhales the dirt of a home that doesn't want him as the person who's supposed to be his father presses his head down.

"Get off!" Adam gurgles and tries to kick him away, but his father's knees are on his thighs and he can't move, the pain is piercing. He feels the wallet in dad's pocket pressing into the back of his jeans. Adam's going to remember this for the rest of his life.

Fingers in his hair. Head bending back.

No one's loved him. No one's loved him. Not in this house.

Then his father bangs his head into the floor, blood and dust in his nose and the whole world goes red, dad's roaring like an animal and Adam screams like an evil genie, because he is, because the evil genie has never lived in him, he's been it.

An evil genie. A lonely little ghost that wanders from door to door, knocks with no one opening, because no one, _no one_ wants him.

Dad keeps banging his head frenetically into the floor, Adam feels his nose bending and creaking disturbingly and thinks that if he'd seen his father's eyes now, they'd be red as the devil's, red because they're related, since Adam's the devil, the freak, the evil genie.

"Dad! What are you doing?"

Adam doesn't look at them. He knows that Claire and mom are standing in the doorway, he knows that mom has been there for some time but Claire just got here. And he won't look at them, because if he saw mom now, he'd give her a pleading look, look like he needed her, and he won't ask her for help. Not even in his mind, not ever.

"Dad! You're killing him!"

Then the weight disappears from Adam's back, and there's a good chance that it was Claire that finally managed to push him off, but Adam doesn't stop to look, he stands up straight away despite the spinning head and the blackness over his heart that he doesn't think that anyone will ever get through to uncover the bleeding craving for love that lies beneath. And he walks out.

He slams the door open without a jacket, or shoes, with blood dripping in slimy strings from his nose, and he starts walking in the rain that's now an absolute flood. His already drenched socks splash into the puddles on the sidewalk, and Adam keeps walking, with a black heart and a complete lack of love behind him.

He's never felt how much it hurts before.

The guilt of the world. Mom and dad's little monster.

The evil genie may have loved it, but it's gone now. And suddenly, being an outcast doesn't seem nearly as cool anymore.

"Adam!"

Adam doesn't turn around.

"Adam, stop!"

Adam keeps walking.

"Adam, for God's sake, I just saved your life, the least you can do is listen to me!"

Adam stops abruptly and spins around on his heels. Claire's standing there, of course. Her hair is already in thick, wet strands, it looks like worms. Her mascara has run down her face, because she buys the cheapest brand possible, and her nipples are pointing out in the tight fabric of her t-shirt. This one has David Bowie on it.

All these imperfections. Why the _fuck _is she so beautiful?

"If I'm that much of a fucking problem, why didn't you just let him kill me?" Adam hisses and takes a step closer to her. "And if you really missed having me around for them to use as their measure stick to make yourself look better, since anyone would look fucking perfect next to me, you could've brought in someone else to be compared to. Like Ted Bundy, or that guy who stands by the bowling alley downtown and pinch the teenage girls' asses!"

Claire narrows her eyes and wraps her arms around herself. Above them, a bolt of lightening rips the sky in two.

"What are you talking about?" She looks towards the house they just left, and before Adam can answer, she goes on: "Yes, they love me more than you. Do you think I want that for you? I've worked my ass off to make you look better in front of them, in case you haven't noticed."

Adam laughs joylessly.

"That's _bullshit," _he hisses and points an accusing finger at her. "You've spent the past six years sitting by and seeing him beat me up, and you've done _shit _about it. Other than the occasional laugh at my jokes, what exactly is it that I'm supposed to be grateful for?"

The anger is there, as usual. With something much more melancholy burning along with it.

"Oh, please," Claire bites back. "Dad beat me up, too. And he didn't do it because he didn't love me, he did it because I kept trying to talk to him about the way he treated you. I told him that he didn't have to accept that you were gay, but just put up with you until you left, and he fucking beat me from room to room."

Her eyes are locked with Adam when she says this, and as hard as Adam tries to stay angry, he feels himself faltering. His entire image of dad, and of Claire, is suddenly shaken to the foundation, but he picks his furious expression back up pretty quickly.

"That's different," he snaps. "I didn't know that."

Claire's jaw is clenched, lips pursed.

"You knew," she says, more gravely than Adam thought her capable of.

Adam looks at her. Sees her for what she is, truly is, for the first time in a long time. She's a lonely, sad girl standing in the rain with her mascara in stripes over her face, and he wants to take her in his arms and actually let himself feel sorry for her, but he can't. Of course he can't.

The guilt of the world. Mom and dad's little monster.

"Well, fucking adorable," he spits out, and takes another step closer, lowering his voice. "The cute upper-class girl that could've had the world, but choose to stand up for her idiot gay brother instead. Standing fucking ovation, Claire. You've always been so good at that, you're such a fucking sweetheart that it's not even me who's a freak. _Anyone _would look like a bastard next to you! But do you _really _have to underline it like that? Everybody _knows _that I'm the bastard and you're perfect, you know that, and I know that, can't we just leave it at that?"

Claire just looks at him. Her eyes could be tearing up, or maybe it's the rain. She shakes her head slowly.

"No," she says. "That's what _you _know. That's what _you _think. Sure, right now I think you're a bastard, and a pretty stupid one, too, but other than that, I don't care if you're an asshole, or a punk rocker, or gay, or a fucking smurf. You're my brother. I love you."

Adam wants to break eye contact, but he can't. He wants to throw a sarcastic insult at her, but he can't.

Adam has never been able to accept other people's kindness. Whether it was about having them cleaning his dishes, or standing up for him when his father was abusing him. When it comes to kindness, he's an emotional strainer. Nothing stays in him, it all leaks out. All that stays is the bad stuff.

The stuff that convinces him that he's a monster.

But now, he finds himself standing in front of his little sister. She offers him unconditional love, and he can't get himself to not want it.

Claire sends a glance towards the house. They're only a couple of feet from the front door, but have still managed to enter a whole new world.

"Wait here," she says. "I'll go see if the coast is clear. If it is, we'll go get your stuff, and I'll drive you to your place. Okay?"

Adam nods, not quite sure what he's agreeing to. His head is pounding and his heart is cracked open.

About an hour later, him and Claire are sitting on his mattress, in _his apartment. _She stole the first aid-kit from the place that never was Adam's home, and Adam cringes when she cleans the cut in his bottom lip and puts tape over his bent nose. Nothing's broken, the cheek bone took the worst hit.

That place was never a home. And Claire was never a sister. There's a chance she never will be, but the simple fact that Adam lets her clean his wounds is a sure sign that they might at least have _something. _

"Why didn't he want me to leave?" Adam asks as Claire puts alcohol on another cotton ball.

Claire can't answer him. Maybe he'll never know.

He has things in his life now. He has Lawrence, possibly Claire. And he has something he can control for the first time in years.

But when Claire leaves that night, that black cover over his heart is cracked open again. That thing he hid for years by pretending that he actually _wanted _to be an outcast.

It's still. He thought he didn't need all that stuff that other people needed. Love, friendship. A home. But now he's all alone, and he feels it.

The sorrow for the family he never had.


	21. Save Yourself

**A/N: Okay, here comes Stella-revelation-time. First of all: As of the last chapter, this is the longest fic I've ever written. APPLAUDS! And second of all: this is, as of… I don't know which review, the most reviewed one of my fics, too! APPLAUDS TO YOU! And now another chapter! **

**21: Save Yourself**

Lawrence hasn't had anything other than yogurt and school lunch for about a month.

Lawrence goes to sleep at three AM and wakes up three hours later.

Lawrence works weekends at the local convenient store and then goes straight home to study some more.

This is something he's been doing for the past two years. But now it's the first time it's actually bothered him.

It's all worth it, he knows that. The sleepless nights, the lessons where he tries his hardest to keep his head up, but feels it softly falling into the textbook and his eyes closing. The time away from Adam, Wendy, away from his siblings. It's all worth it. As long as he can get them out of here.

But Lawrence is tired. So tired.

Lou is growing up. Lawrence has moments when he looks at her and suddenly sees that she's much older than he treats her. He still sees her as three years old, and when she's sad, he still tries to put her in his lap, but damn… If they'd been luckier, been born somewhere else and from someone else, she would've already started school.

The same with Daniel. He's become a quiet, shy little boy, not talking much but enough to say what he wants, those rare times he says it. He seems to have learned already not to ask for much. Lawrence wonders if he gets a certain look in his eyes when Lou or Daniel asks for something. Whatever it is that makes them convinced that they shouldn't do it, he tries to tone it down. He doesn't want them to think that they're not worth the breakfast that they ask for so shyly.

It's Daniel's sixth birthday soon. Lawrence is thinking about what to get him. He knows he needs a new pair of jeans. Not to mention a new bed, he's way too big for his crib. Lawrence wonders if he'd accept an education as a gift, but it doesn't seem very believable. It's probably hard to see how important those boring hours in class are when you're six years old.

He'd give Daniel so much more than education. He'd give him the world.

But it's all getting too much. The voices, the stomach pains. The tests that seem to stare up at him from the desk.

"What is it?" Adam says one night, with ruffled hair and sleep-deprived eyes, since Lawrence's screaming has woken him up again. "Describe it to me. Is it nightmares, or… Are there people? Voices?"

Lawrence shakes his head, rubs his hairline.

"They're not nightmares. And I don't… See things," he says, his voice hoarse with suppressed tears. "I don't know, I think… It's like voices. Not like they tell me to do things or whatever, they mostly tell me…"

He pauses. Adam waits.

"It's hard to hear what they say," Lawrence goes on. "They… They mostly tell me… How useless I am. That I can never do… What I want to do."

"You'll never make it out?"

Lawrence nods.

"Whose voices are they?" Adam asks quietly.

Lawrence shrugs.

Lou and Daniel back at home. Sleeping with Wendy in a car wreck.

"They sound like my own," he finishes off.

Adam and him always sleep in the same bed when they're at his place. But that night, when Adam can finally get Lawrence to lay down again, Lawrence is only almost asleep when he feels Adam scuffling closer, wrapping one arm around his waist. The warmth coating the wobbly, cold inside. He sleeps soundly that night.

Adam finally having his own place opens up completely new possibilities for them. Lawrence spends basically all his time there now, and almost always brings Lou, Daniel and Wendy, especially now that autumn is setting in and the cold is creeping in on them. When Adam opens the door, Lou bounces in and hugs his waist, and then Lawrence orders her and Daniel to take a shower, they make a complete mess in the bathroom and Lawrence gets guilty and asks Adam if they should stop shamelessly taking advantage of him like this, and Adam just rolls his eyes.

It's still hard for Lawrence to accept unconditional favors. And still, after two years, it's hard to imagine that they're not even favors; Adam does this because he cares about him.

Lawrence's screams wakes him up another night, probably the millionth night, hates himself and hates himself even more when he sees that Adam _still _doesn't get annoyed with him at all.

"Do they never go away?" Adam asks when he's crossed his legs beneath him on the mattress. "Are you ever happy with yourself? Do they go away then?"

Lawrence smiles hopelessly and shakes his head.

"Wouldn't say so. I'm sorry."

For a second, Adam looks so sad that Lawrence can barely stand it.

"Isn't there anything that makes you feel good?" he asks.

He cares. He genuinely cares.

Lawrence looks at Adam. His slim fingers. Furrowed brows. His mouth.

There could be a very simple way for him to get through high school. There is something that would make him so happy and so _whole, _that no voices would ever get into his head again.

But of course, it's not that easy and it never has been.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Daniel's birthday comes sooner than Lawrence was prepared for it. Since he refuses to ask Adam for money for this, too, Lawrence steals a muffin from the cafeteria in school and gives it to him. And since Lou is so bad at hiding her disappointment over not getting a muffin herself, Daniel kindly offers her a piece of it. Lawrence really wonders where he learned to be such a sweetheart.

The only thing that ruins the mood is mom. She's having one of her bad days.

She probably doesn't even remember that it's Daniel's birthday, so Lawrence can't hold it against her that she can't at least pretend to be happy for him, but he feels his barely existent affection for her shrink away a little further.

"What's with the Santa's manner?" she asks when she passes Lawrence on her way to the fridge.

Lawrence wishes he could cover Daniel's ears.

"It's Daniel's birthday."

She scoffs as she takes the coffee pan and fills it with water.

"Birthday," she mutters and gives Daniel a venomous glare. "You know what I got for my birthday, Danny? A fucking pocketknife shoved up my cunt. You think you're better than me because your big brother happens to be a soft-hearted little faggot?"

Daniel just looks at her. His eyes are wide.

Lawrence realizes in that moment that Daniel's eyes are a lot like hers. Like the woman in their kitchen that never was a mother to them.

"Leave him alone," he says calmly. "It's not his fault you're a hooker."

Her eyes narrow, she takes a step towards him. Coffee pan in hand.

"This is something about that guy you've been seeing, isn't it?" she spits out. "He's been giving you stuff? You're his luxury whore?"

Something snaps in Lawrence. But as usual, he's good at suppressing that.

"Don't speak badly of Adam."

The one who does speak up is his little sister who he still hasn't realized is much older than she looks.

Mom looks down at Lou. It seems to take her a couple of seconds before she realizes that she's supposed to get mad, and then, she smiles in that sweet and poisonous way.

"You've grown rather fond of him, haven't you?" she purrs, Lawrence notices that she's squeezing the handle of the coffee pot and feels cold inside.

Lou goes on before mom manages to finish her statement. She knows it'd just be with an insult, anyway.

"I don't get why you're so mean to us all the time," she says seriously. "If you didn't want us, why did you have us at all?"

It happens very quickly. Before Lou manages to react and before Lawrence should be able to react, the woman in front of them have raised the coffee pan over her head and swung it against her daughter's head. But Lawrence steps in front of her. Before he's even registered the fact that he did it, and when the aluminum hits his forehead, he closes his eyes because he doesn't want to see the thin runnel of blood trickle into his eyes and he doesn't want to see the world sway back and forth in his vision, doesn't want to give her that power.

She won't have any power. Any power ever again.

He's not sure what does it. She's hit him before, hell, she's hit him with that very coffee pan, but for some reason, it's this particular time that sets off this reaction in him. Finally.

It's over. It's over now.

He opens his eyes again. She's in front of him, and she doesn't even look angry, more like she's overcome a difficult task. She actually looks proud.

Lawrence opens his mouth. He's aware of everything, every syllable passing his lips, the air on his skin and the blood fresh on his forehead, but it's still surprisingly unceremoniously that he says:

"We're going to leave now."

She scoffs.

"Fine."

"We're leaving for good," Lawrence goes on, like he didn't even hear her. "We're never coming back. Lou and Daniel are starting school next year. They're going to get an education. They're not going to be like you. They're going to grow up and get a life. You won't get to see them grow up."

She's starting to get that he's serious. Her eyes widen slightly. Does he see a hint of sadness in there?

"I'm going to get them out of here," Lawrence goes on. "And if you ever, _ever _lay a hand on them again, I will kill you. They're not your kids. They never were."

They just stare at each other for a second. Lawrence looks into her eyes and there's nothing there.

"Louise, Daniel," he then says, in a lighter tone. "We're going to stay at Adam's for a while. Do you have anything you want to bring there?"

Lou and Daniel stand paralyzed for a few seconds, before they start gathering their belongings. It's not much. Daniel grabs his blanket, Lou her one toy; the pebble with a string tied around it. Lawrence takes a plastic bag from under the sink and stuffs down some clothes for all of them, along with his schoolbooks. He feels her eyes on him. He doesn't look back, because he knows himself and knows that chances are good she can get him to change his mind.

When Lawrence has gathered up all his stuff, he just stands there for a second. His mother in front of him. Still holding the coffee pan.

He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know what to feel.

"I'll get back to you when I've started college," he says flatly. "Just… So I know you're alive."

She's standing there. Just standing there.

Lawrence feels that it's of vital importance that he leaves right now, or she's going to snare him back in.

"Say goodbye, guys," he says to Lou and Daniel. They wave hesitatingly.

"Bye, mom."

Daniel doesn't say anything.

Then Lawrence leads them out the door.

Lawrence knows that he has to get at least fifty feet away from the trailer before he's sure to never go back, and until he gets that far away, he can't allow himself to think anything other than strictly practical thoughts. He starts walking. Focuses his mind on things like how much the soles of his shoes are going to wear down during the walk to Adam's place, assuming that they'll lose maybe 0,001 percent of rubber every time they hit the ground, and a little more when they walk over a graveled surface.

That's what he's going to think about. Not about what's going to happen to his mom now.

Wendy's sitting in their scrap yard, playing tic-tac-toe with herself by drawing in the dirt in front of her. When she sees them, she smiles widely before she sees the bag in Lawrence's hand, his distant gaze.

"Is something wrong?" she asks as she stands up.

Lawrence shakes his head.

"We're leaving," he says and tightens his grip on his plastic bag, like that's the thing that keeps him in existence. "Would you come with us, please?"

Wendy seems to put two and two together pretty quickly. When she gets what he means, she scratches her shoulder awkwardly.

"I can't... You know, _live _with Adam," she says. "His apartment is tiny, and if you guys are going to stay there…"

Lawrence closes his eyes briefly. There's not much to discuss. If they start a discussion, he's going to cry.

"Wendy," he says calmly. "I love you. I hate mom. And mom is still all that I think about right now. Do you get it? If you don't come with us, I will never be able to go back to school. I'm going to sit on my bed in complete apathy until I go back to the trailer. Okay?"

Wendy looks at him. Shakes her head and even smiles a little.

"What are we going to do with you, Lawrence?" she asks softly.

Lawrence isn't really in the mood to have that talk right now. But he gets his way. Wendy walks up next to him, and then they keep walking.

It's a bit like when they carried Daniel to the hospital, that horrible winter when he got sick. Lawrence is, just like then, emotionally numb. Just like then, the only things that give him the strength to go on are the people by his side and the very determined thought that _he's going to fucking do this. _

And on the other hand, it's nothing like that time at all. That day, Lawrence actually had something that drove him on.

Now, all he has, even though he doesn't really allow himself to feel it just yet, is an overwhelming desire to go back.

He takes it out the wrong way, too. When they've been walking for about half an hour and Lou starts to whine and Daniel looks like he's going to fall asleep on the spot, he yells at them, and when Wendy tells him to calm down, he hisses something inaudible.

He's frustrated. With them, because they don't get how hard this is for them, and with himself, because it's hard for him.

The woman put him through hell. She's the reason he's as messed up as he is, he shouldn't want to save her almost even more than he wants to save himself from this place.

When they get to Adam's place, Lawrence's feet are aching, even though he's walked that walk hundreds of times and should be used to it by now. Adam opens the door with a not too surprised look on his face.

"The wonder twins," he says when he sees Lawrence and Wendy. "Hey, guys," he then says when he sees Lou and Daniel. "Come on in."

Lou and Daniel run past him into the apartment. Now would usually be when they ran around and asked if they could play Adam's records, but not this time. Lou grabs an apple from the sink and Daniel falls asleep on the couch. Adam looks at Lawrence with slight amusement, but he does get that this is a serious matter.

"Something with mom?" he asks lowly, as if Lou and Daniel could've missed it if there was.

Lawrence feels his hands trembling. Seems like the emotions are coming to the surface now.

"I'm not going back", he says. "Can we stay here for a while?"

Adam's gaze flickers back and forth between him and Wendy. Then he slaps Lawrence on a shoulder in a way he hopes is masculine enough.

"You can stay for as long as you want, man."

xxxxxxxxxxx

Later that night, Lou and Daniel are sleeping on the couch, tangled in each other's limbs. That's always been a comfort for them, even though they're never again going to have to sleep covering each other's ears to block out the sound of some guy fucking their mom. Wendy's sleeping on the spare mattress on the floor. Lawrence already knows where he's going to sleep tonight.

He's sitting with Adam on his bed. They have to be quiet to not wake up the others. That can be hard when Lawrence works with every nerve in his body to hold back a scream that will never end.

Sitting on Adam's bed. Like so many times before. Even though everything's different now.

"How are you feeling now?" Adam says quietly as he lights one of his cigarettes.

Lawrence shrugs.

"When it happened, I didn't feel much at all… I think I still don't. Lou and Daniel don't need to see me freak out."

Adam looks at him, concerned.

"Why would you freak out? One of the reasons you're so twirled up is that you've wanted to get out of that fucking trailer."

Lawrence nods, frenetically. It's welling up, from deep within.

"I know. I know. But what's going to happen to her now?"

He's already tearing up. Fuck…

"She's my _mom," _he stutters out. "What's going to happen to her now? She could get beaten to death by one of the johns, she could starve, freeze, start shooting up or whatever, and I'm not going to be there, because…"

He cuts himself off abruptly. Or his voice cracks. Adam hesitatingly puts his hand on Lawrence's knee.

"It's not up to you to save her, man," he says, more mature than usual.

Lawrence shakes his head.

"I could've done more."

"Yeah, you could've," Adam says plainly. "That doesn't mean you _should've. _You're the kid here. You shouldn't have to suffer because of her fuck-ups. If she'd been a real mom, she wouldn't have wanted you to."

Everything he says is true. Lawrence still has to put his hand over his mouth to keep the sobs inside.

It's such a relief. Such a relief. But he's so guilty, it's something black and slimy welling up inside him, and suddenly, he's fallen down on the mattress and Adam has to grab him with both arms to keep him from rolling down on the floor.

He could've done something._ Could've done something._

He knows he shouldn't have, and that if he actually had done something more, he would've burned himself out. He knows that he's gone the best possible way, doing what he did today.

But Lawrence doesn't think that way. He believes in facts, numbers.

And the thought that technically, physically,he could've done something more to save his mom, is a thought that will haunt him for as long as he lives.

Lawrence misses school for the first time the next day. Not because he consciously skips it, but because he spends most of the night shivering violently with Adam's arms around him, eyes wide open, hands gripping white-knuckled at themselves until he's drawn blood from his own fingers.

He doesn't fall asleep until six AM the next morning. He's still sound asleep at eight, when Adam gets out of bed, calls in both of them sick and crawls up next to him again.


	22. So Beautiful That It Has To End

**A/N: Gaaah, okay… Usually, I just write the damn chapters and post them, but this thing has been rewritten, changed, poked around with and whatnot so I thought it'd never be finished… I'm pretty happy with it, though. I think it'll satisfy the fangirl in all of us. (Or, in everyone that are willing to stick through this thing for 22 chapters, at least. XD)**

**22: So Beautiful That It Has To End**

"For fucks sake, stay focused," Lawrence says and tries to grab Adam's sleeve and pull him back to the counter. "If I make the mashed potatoes, you can make the minced meat stuff, okay?"

Adam just keeps giggling as Lawrence tries to pick up his hand and ladle in it. When he's actually taken a hold of it and Lawrence thinks it's safe leave him to his work, it only takes a couple of seconds before Adam's voice, trembling with suppressed snickering, speaks up next to him.

"Lawrence, look," Adam says and places the concave part of the black ladle on his nose. "I'm a koala bear."

Not even Lawrence can stay serious at that. He throws his head back and laughs, and when Adam starts laughing so the ladle on his nose falls off, that, of course, is even more hilarious.

They figured they'd make Shepherd's pie tonight. It'd be practical, since it's not that expensive to make, and if they made a lot of it, they'd be able to eat half of it tonight and still have enough left to eat it for dinner again tomorrow. But since Adam doesn't like to cook, and his response to everything he doesn't want to do is to make a joke about it, they haven't gotten very far. Lawrence has a hard time staying serious when he isn't, after all.

After a couple of minutes, Lawrence actually manages to calm down enough to get words out.

"…Okay," he says and leans his forehead against Adam's shoulder. "Okay. Let's try to focus again, shall we?"

Adam nods, though still giggling softly, and picks the ladle up from where it's landed on the floor.

They go on cooking. Adam's worked up quite some skills at this since he left home. As much as he hated eating the food that the housekeepers made there, he didn't hate it quite so much that he'd voluntarily make dinner himself, and Lawrence had to learn to do it to stay alive, so they're pretty efficient when they actually focus. Lawrence mashes the potatoes with a fork and Adam tries his hardest to cut the carrots without making some kind of penis-related joke, and it's all going well, with Daniel and Lou watching TV in the background.

But then it's another one of those moments. It's not much, all Adam does is leaning across Lawrence to get something, but when Lawrence looks up, they're basically skin to skin and he feels his breath on his cheek, and he forgets what it was he was going to get.

It feels like these times grow more and more frequent, those moments when they're so damn _close, _when Adam has to repeat to himself again and again that it's not going to happen, so he might as well let it go. Might as well clear those images from his head, but it's hard, so fucking hard.

Adam pulls back before the images grow too vivid. It takes him a second to remember that he was going to get the cup to measure tomato paste, but there's no way in hell he's going to lean over Lawrence again to get it.

They can actually serve dinner about an hour later. Wendy eats until she looks like she's about to burst, and Lou and Daniel are ecstatic over finally getting to eat real food. Adam wonders how much they'd like the dinner if they knew that all he could think about when he was making it was how badly he wanted to kiss their big brother.

xxxxxxxxxxx

It's been about two years since Adam and Lawrence were sworn enemies. And since Adam's the only one that could ever push his buttons until he did something that was so stupid that he'd actually get sent to the principal's office, Adam gets just as surprised as Lawrence one day when a teacher walks through the door of their classroom, in the middle of class, and asks if Lawrence Gordon is free to talk to principal Salin.

"What?" Lawrence asks, and can't keep the childishly frightened tone out of his voice. "What did I do?"

The teacher smiles in a way that's probably supposed to seem soothing, but mostly looks condescending.

"Nothing. He just wants to talk to you."

Lawrence nods slowly.

"Okay…"

He leaves his stuff on the desk with little hesitation, and gets up. He exchanges a look with Adam that confirms that they're both equally terrified, probably even more because now, they're not even in it together.

Lawrence walks past his classmates' desks and follows the teacher. He doesn't feel like he's in his body at all. He doesn't feel like this is happening to him. Everything's too weird.

He's standing outside of Mr. Salin's office without knowing how he got there. The teacher that followed him there knocks on the door and says that Lawrence Gordon is here now, Mr. Salin says something and the teacher opens the door and nods her head towards the room, to show Lawrence that he's supposed to get in there.

Lawrence walks in. It feels weird being in this room without a two years younger, bruised, battered and pissed off Adam next to him.

Mr. Salin waves his trashcan lid-sized hand to a chair in front of his desk, and Lawrence sits down. Even when you side for the fact that Mr. Salin is twice the size of a normal human being, Lawrence has never felt smaller in his life.

"Lawrence," Mr. Salin says and picks up his pen. "How are you?"

Lawrence clears his throat. There's a sharp stab of pain in his stomach. Why does it have to act up so damn much when he's nervous?

"Right now, a little nervous," he says with a pitiful chuckle. "I'm sorry, sir, but… Why did you ask me to come here? I feel like I've behaved well, and if you don't think so, you have to tell me right now, or… My head's going to explode."

Mr. Salin smiles warmly. On his face, it just looks weird.

"You've behaved well, Lawrence," he says and puts both hands flat on his desk. "Exceptional, in fact. That's what I meant to talk to you about."

Lawrence nods, registering on some level that he's not in trouble but can't really calm his nerves either way.

"Have you given any thought about what you want to do after school?" Mr. Salin says and opens a folder, probably about Lawrence, in front of him.

"Well…" Lawrence says and tries to make sure that his voice sounds normal, "I want to… Go to college, and then med school, I… I'm planning to be a doctor."

Mr. Salin nods and keeps looking through the folder for a second before he clasps his hands in front of him. He stares into Lawrence's eyes in a way that makes him completely convinced that he's just been playing with him and that he's in fact very much in trouble.

"And things at home?" Mr. Salin asks plainly. "Still the same?"

"W-what do you mean?" Lawrence says.

Mr. Salin beckons lazily to the folder.

"It only says you're living around Morningside Avenue," he says. "You don't even have an address in here."

Lawrence nods and swallows.

"That's because I live in a trailer," he says, without reflecting much on the words. "Or, I did when I filled in that information. I don't anymore. So if that's what you mean with 'still the same…' Then no, things have changed a lot."

"For the better?"

Lawrence smiles, despite himself.

"Very much so."

"Where do you live now?"

"With Adam," Lawrence answers. "On upper West Side, with my siblings."

Mr. Salin nods. There's a pause.

"But I assume that you still don't have a lot of money?" Mr. Salin goes on. "Not enough for college?"

Lawrence shakes his head. His face burns, for some reason. It's not like it can be a very big surprise to Mr. Salin that he's broke after he's found out that he spent the majority of his life in a trailer.

"I was hoping to get a scholarship," he mumbles, without even being able to look at him.

His stomach feels like it's being drained with a hundred tiny needles, sucked out inside out. Lawrence manages to think of about ten different excuses he can use if he throws up in his principal's office.

"Then it's very appropriate that that's what I was going to give you right now."

Lawrence looks up. He probably looks like an idiot, since he's a bit too surprised to think much about his facial features.

"What?"

Mr. Salin smiles. It looks so much more sincere now.

"The medical core would kick me if I let a student like you slip from them," he says warmly. "You have so much potential, kid. What kind of principal would I be if I let it all go to waste just because you're poor?"

"Oh…" Lawrence says and covers his face with his hands, leans his elbows against his knees. He can't really sit up right now. "Oh, Jesus Christ almighty…"

Mr. Salin laughs, probably for the first time in about twenty years, and leans forward over his desk.

"You okay?"

Lawrence straightens up, a hand over his nose, trying to blink past a few stinging tears.

"My stomach really hurts," Lawrence finally manages to get out.

Then he starts giggling even more than he did that time with Adam in the kitchen. And crying at the same time.

xxxxxxxxxxx

A couple of hours, many, many tears, hugs and laughing fits later, Adam and Lawrence are sitting on their bed. It's late, Lou and Daniel are already sleeping. Lawrence managed to keep a straight face for Adam the whole school day, he didn't want to make too much of a scene since after all, he knew they'd end up hugging and crying, and there are enough gay rumors circling about them as it is.

When they got home, Adam demanded to know what was going on, since after all, there are very few things Lawrence can hide completely from him. And when Lawrence told him and Wendy, he cried, Wendy cried, and Adam did his best to just smile and wish him good luck, but did have to lock himself in the bathroom for a few minutes just to keep things somewhat bottled up.

It was so weird. He'd always known it would happen, he knew that Lawrence was too smart to not get a scholarship, but now that it's official…

How can it be?

How can this final year be all they have left?

Now, Lou and Daniel are asleep. Wendy has gone to work in the convenience store a block away, she works there between ten and three at night to make ends meet in their little family. Adam and Lawrence are left on their bed. And Adam doesn't know how he's supposed to act.

He's so, so happy for Lawrence.

At the same time as he's prepared to tie him to the bed and leave him here if that's what it takes to keep him with him.

"I'm going to have to take a student loan," Lawrence says, looking at his twisting hands. "With that, I won't have to work, and I'll be able to get an apartment. I'll take Lou and Daniel with me, and they'll start school over there."

Adam nods.

"Have you decided where you're going to leave your application?" he asks and looks around for his cigarettes. He knows he's got a limited supply of them, but damn, if now is not a good time for a smoke…

Lawrence doesn't answer right away. This is the moment he's been fearing.

"The only medical college that specializes in surgery…" he says quietly, "is in… Canada."

Adam freezes, a second too long for it to be unnoticed, and then nods. Tries to pretend like this isn't what he's been dreading ever since he realized that he actually cares about Lawrence for real.

"What about Wendy?" Like she's the important one in this manner.

Lawrence shrugs.

"It's up to her. Of course she can come with me if she wants to."

Adam nods. Damn, why does he have such a hard time being happy for him?

"And what about me?"

Finally, Lawrence looks up. His gaze is so tormented that Adam feels bad for even asking. He keeps his eyes steady, though, even though he feels himself blushing. He's still not good at talking about this stuff.

Lawrence shakes his head again, though a little more impatient this time.

"What do you want me to say?"

Adam sighs and lights his cigarette, mostly to have something other than Lawrence to look at.

"I want you to say that you're not going anywhere, that you're staying with me in this apartment for the rest of your life… Or at least that you'll take me with you, too."

Lawrence shakes his head for the third time. A small crease appears between his eyebrows, and Adam finally sees what's been beneath his happiness this entire night.

If his anxiety causes him to hear voices on normal days, it's going to be twice as bad now.

"Can't you come with me?" Lawrence says, with a pleading edge.

Adam should be moved, but he just gets pissed off.

"Fuck, Lawrence, I can't afford to go to Canada!" he bites back and almost crushes his cigarette when he places it in the ashtray. "I'd do any fucking thing to be with you, but I don't have that money, and _I'm _not the one running off to…"

He cuts himself off abruptly. He was very close to saying something he was going to regret.

Lawrence gives him an annoyed look. Mostly annoyed because he _would_ consider staying if that meant he'd never have to leave him. But then he sees the two children lying on a mattress on the other end of the room, and remembers that despite what it sometimes feels like, there are things in his life more important than Adam.

"I don't know, Adam," he says desperately rubs the back of his neck. "I really don't know, I… I'm going to miss you so goddamn much, but if I don't do this just because I'm scared… What's going to become of me then? Huh?"

Adam scoffs. He knows that what Lawrence says is true, but for some reason, it's very important to him that Lawrence feels at least almost as crappy about this as he does.

"I don't get you sometimes, you know that?" he says bitterly. "Sometimes it's like… Okay, this is going to sound cheesy, but it feels like this friendship is just about you. Not that I mind it when you talk to me about everything and all that, but…"

He pauses to draw a shaky drag on his cigarette. His face is throbbing with his deep blush, every nerve in his body seems wobbly and sparkly, but he has to say this.

"I… I obsess about that fu-fucking night in the alley _all… All the time," _Adam finally gets out. He wants to sound angry, but hears to his annoyance that he's stammering. "Maybe it doesn't matter to you, but to me…"

That's all he manages to get out. After that, he looks firmly into the mattress. He doesn't really want to see Lawrence's expression.

"Is that way off?" Adam finishes and looks up.

Lawrence shakes his head slowly. Adam catches a small glistening in his eyes before Lawrence lowers his gaze and moves closer to Adam on the mattress. 

"No," he says quietly. "No, it's not way off."

Pause.

"I think about it, too," Lawrence says. "A lot. Not all the time, but… A lot. And it's not that I don't…"

His voice dies out.

Why does it have to hurt so much?

"I want to go," Lawrence says. Almost pleads. "I'm _going_ to go. You can't keep me here, not even you can, but…"

Adam feels his heart being ripped open bit by bit, something warm leaking out.

"I just…" on the brink of tears now. "I wish I could take you with me."

Adam nods, looks up. Their eyes meet. Their relationship has always been intimate this way, but right now, it doesn't feel like they say half of the things they want to say to each other.

He doesn't say that he wants Lawrence to kiss him. That his lips are itching, skin aching for it. Because he knows Lawrence doesn't want to hear that right now.

Lawrence looks back at him with a pitying expression, one that would usually annoy Adam, but it's okay now, for some reason. Maybe because it's followed by him reaching out and grazing his fingers over Adam's cheek. The pitying in his eyes is glazed with tears.

"Adam…"

Adam closes his eyes. Tries to not let it overtake him. But before he even realizes it himself, both his hands are on Lawrence's face, their lips pressed together, and there's nothing he can do about it.

Lawrence responds mostly out of what seems like reflex, his brows raise briefly before his eyes fall shut and his hands go to Adam's waist. Just like the last time they did this, he doesn't know what he's doing, not familiar with this feeling, just acts on it, instinctively.

Knows they shouldn't do it, but when Adam's hands slide down to his shoulders and softly pushes him onto his back, he doesn't know what to do other than letting him have his way. Lawrence can fight basically any feeling there is, whether it's tiredness, hunger, anger, but the odd, tingling sensation that rises at the places Adam touches… He's not sure what to do about that. What can he do?

Adam feels the hesitation in Lawrence's movements. There is a chance he's going too fast, but he can't help it. He can't help this anymore than he can help the feelings he's felt for Lawrence ever since that fateful night he realized that he had them. Lawrence's lips remind him of the sensation he's suppressed since then; the overwhelming, vehement need to feel his skin against his own. Have him close, closer.

"Adam…" Lawrence repeats for a brief second when they're apart. "Don't…"

Adam manages to come to his senses. The little that's left of them, at least. He sits up on the bed, and tries to ignore how much colder he feels without Lawrence beneath him.

"Sorry," he mumbles and looks down. "It's just…"

His words get stuck somewhere halfway out. Why couldn't Lawrence just let him go on kissing him? That's the part he's good at.

"I want you to go, too," Adam finally gets out and moves his hand up to Lawrence's hair. "Despite what I seem like. I… It'd kill me to have you stuck in this hellhole for the rest of your life. But I don't want you to go… Without… Doing this first."

Just these words are enough to make it sting again. Maybe he just wants to do this to numb the pain?

To make him forget, if even for a second, that Lawrence is leaving him?

Adam looks at Lawrence again. His cheeks are bright red, and he looks confused, but he doesn't protest. And his flushed lips look so appealing that Adam has to kiss him again, even if he forces himself to take it slower this time.

The next kiss is lighter, and in a way, even more loving than the previous. With his hand on his cheek, Adam's lips graze over Lawrence's, his best friend and so much more, because even if he'll never be able to tell him, he has to at least show him how much he means to him.

Adam stops at that, pulling away to see if he's allowed to do this. When they break apart, Lawrence's eyes are turned down. Scared? Maybe.

"It's… It's going to make it harder for me to leave," Lawrence mumbles and bites his fingernail.

Adam sighs, and gently rubs his thumb over Lawrence's face.

"I know."

Adam tries to ignore the sting in his chest at these words.

"But… If you left and we hadn't…"

He can't really finish the sentence. The pain has already come back. This whole night is one long stretch of things he can't really say.

He can't finish the sentence, and Lawrence doesn't protest, so Adam kisses him again, this time remembering that he's always loved kissing, even loved kissing girls but never felt anything like this, like kissing someone he's actually cared about. With Lawrence, it's not like he just wants sex, or really just the relief afterwards,.

He actually wants to… Make love, or whatever the hell you call it. Everything about Lawrence drives him crazy right now, every touch of his hand and every new time their lips mash together strengthens the feeling that every cell in his body strives towards Lawrence, aching for his warmth.

When they break apart again, Adam planned to say something else, but when he looks into Lawrence's eyes, he realizes that he doesn't have to argue for this anymore.

Lawrence wants this, too. He's wanted it since that first night in that alley, just as much as Adam has, and if there's anytime they should do it, it's now.

At the next kiss, Lawrence opens his mouth, and after that, there's no telling which kiss is the next, because they don't part again after that other than to catch breath, which seems to be running out way too quickly. Lawrence puts his hand on the back of Adam's neck and pushes him closer, and again, they're lying down with Adam on top, still with one hand on Lawrence's face and one in his hair, because despite what they're doing and what they're _going _to do, he's still not sure where he's allowed to have them.

Lawrence seems to be thinking the same. When Adam straddles him and actually feels the growing bulge between his legs, Adam gets terrified in a way he never gets in sexual situations, in a way he can't imagine that even Lawrence is, despite the fact that he's a virgin.

It's not Adam's first time, it's not even his first time with a guy. It's just… It's the first time with someone who matters. With all those girls and boys in the scrap yard, he wanted to make it good for them, but mostly because he wanted to feel useful in some way, not because he cared about them… But he loves Lawrence. And he has moves to make them come within minutes, but he has no moves to make it _special. _

He has no intention of stopping, though. He wouldn't be able, even if he wanted to. This may not be sex in porn-class, but they're going to do it.

Adam's hands may be nervous and fumbling when they slide down to stroke the warm skin under Lawrence's shirt, but they do pull a desperate sigh out of Lawrence, and up until today, that was more than he could hope for.

Lawrence still isn't sure what to do. He kisses Adam back, and uncertainly brings his hand further down, first to his shoulders, then to his chest, up to his neck, and Adam tries to get used to the feeling of being touched as he pulls Lawrence's shirt over his head. He sees Lawrence blush again under his hand, and almost smiles into their kiss. It's nice to know that he's not the only one who's nervous. But Lawrence is able to take initiatives; Adam's shirt comes off seconds later, too.

The lines are blurred, rationality gone, the nervousness Adam feels fades into distance and the little he still feels is just enough to add to the excitement. But now that Lawrence can touch his bare skin, it becomes clear that his hands are actually shaking, and despite his impatience, Adam pulls back, looks into his eyes. Strokes his cheek with a tenderness he didn't know he had in him.

"Are you scared?" he murmurs, their foreheads touching.

Lawrence nods slowly.

"Yes."

"Do you want to wait?"

"No."

And then they launch forward again. Right now, Adam feels like he wants to taste nothing other than Lawrence for the rest of his life.

"What if…" Lawrence whispers breathlessly when he strokes his hand between Adam's legs, "the kids…"

"I don't care," Adam mumbles back, and his nails bury in Lawrence's shoulders as the frustration becomes almost unbearable.

It's so awkward, so inexperienced. With all the other ones, Adam has been able to let his mind wander, he could think about cigarettes or some movie he's seen as he was fucking them, and he finds that he has to do almost the same thing now but still something completely different, shut out everything and act solely on feeling. Which is probably just as hard for Lawrence as it is for him. Hell, he hasn't done anything that isn't purely practical since that last time Adam managed to get him drunk. It's so awkward that Adam would count this as a definite failure if it'd been with anyone else.

But when it's with Lawrence, it's okay that he suddenly doesn't know how to do anything. That Lawrence whimpers as he enters him, and that Adam actually gets worried. Just like it's been their entire relationship, none of them sure what to do, but knowing that they can work it out together.

Adam curls up against Lawrence's chest later that night, in a way that he'd never allow himself, despite the situation, if Lawrence hadn't been half asleep already. This is almost more intimate, the minutes after, and Adam tries his hardest not to sleep, has to keep this, this one damn moment with Lawrence's arms around him. This one goddamn moment.

It'll be gone soon. These arms, the warmth. That weird softness in his chest that only Lawrence seems to be able to bring out. It'll all be gone soon.

The thought would be unbearable, despair him to the core of his being, if those arms and that warmth hadn't been with him right now.

He looks up at Lawrence. His eyes are already half-closed.

_I love you, _Adam thinks. Doesn't say out loud.

This will be hard enough as it is. Even now, when they haven't told each other half of what they want to say, Adam feels a few tears seeping out when he closes his eyes.

He does try his hardest not to sleep. He thinks Lawrence does the same, but he doesn't really want to talk to him to keep him awake, either. He wants to stay with this, this right here, right now.

One of his last moments with his best friend, with slow, even breathing and a new day lining the horizon.


	23. Bad Kid

**A/N: I must say, considering that I wrote the first half of this chapter when I was half asleep, the second half on a ferry surrounded by people, and proofread it when I was half asleep… It's not that bad. XD I hope you'll like it. And for the record, I love the hell out of you all. **

**A/N#2: Just FYI: I'm going away soon, and I'll be gone for some time. I think I'll have access to internet, but I'm not a hundred percent sure. And even if I do, I probably won't have as much time for writing as I'd like. So if I update a little slower, or don't answer PMs, it's nothing personal/a sign that I'm giving up my fics. That ain't happening. ;)**

**23: Bad Kid**

Lawrence wakes up the next morning with a feeling of a massive hangover, from Lou poking on his cheek.

"Lawrence?" she says impatiently, and Lawrence blinks sleepily at the bleak morning light. Not that there's much of it, it's too late in the year for the sun to be up at this hour.

Lawrence has a hard time opening his eyes. The sound of Wendy putting the coffee pan on the tiny hotplate is like two pot lids being banged together to his ears, and he puts one hand over his forehead. Last night's events are swimming around in his head, too blurry for him to discern any of them even though they're moving slowly. What the hell happened… Did Adam get him drunk?

"Yeah?" he answers out of reflex.

"Breakfast," Lou says, and Daniel's standing next to her, saying nothing. He's even less talkative than usual in the mornings.

"Right…" Lawrence groans and rubs his palm against his eye.

He starts untangling from the blanket, before he realizes that he's naked and pulls it back up, blushing all the way down on his neck. Lou grins mischievously at him.

"Why are you sleeping naked?"

Lawrence scrambles desperately for some kind of emergency lie, but he's too busy making out what really happened last night to himself to think of a fake version of it.

It's all coming back to him now. Even though it should've been obvious right away, with both Adam and him lying naked, pressed up even closer than usual. The warmth of his skin as he lies huddled up against Lawrence's chest.

Lawrence still hasn't said anything when the coffee's on the stove and Wendy walks over to them. She's only slept a couple of hours tonight and looks even more like a skeleton now than she did when they lived on the streets, eating only one apple a day. Lawrence almost flinches at the thought, even though he knows she'll sleep when Adam and him are at school.

"Sorry I didn't wake you up earlier," she says and puts her hand on Lou's shoulder. "I just thought you could use some extra sleep, with the finals…"

Then she sees Lawrence's naked chest, his deep blush. His arms around Adam, and more importantly, that other contact between them, the one that's not physical.

"…Wow," is all Wendy manages to get out. "So you actually…"

Lawrence nods. For some reason, he feels like he just wants to cry.

"Yeah."

Wendy nods, too. Even she blushes a little. They've never really talked about sex before. It hasn't been relevant for either one of them.

Lawrence gently untangles himself from Adam's arms, reaches over him and picks up his boxers from where they've been thrown away at the floor. When they're on, he gets out of bed. Adam moans softly and reaches for Lawrence where he used to be. Lou looks from Adam to Lawrence, incredibly frustrated, like always when there's something kept secret from her.

"Lawrence, what did you do?" she demands as she follows him to the kitchen. "What did you do with Adam?"

Lawrence just pretends not to hear Lou. Even if he wanted to, there's no way he can explain this to her.

Wendy smiles to herself at first, but when she sees the look on Lawrence's face, she waits until Lou and Daniel are eating their breakfast, and then pulls him aside. Lawrence can't even look at her.

"I thought it'd be the perfect way for you two to say goodbye," Wendy says quietly and puts her hand on Lawrence's shoulder.

Lawrence shakes his head. Her touch melts him, as always, but right now, things are a bit too miserable for that to be considered helpful.

He works so hard to keep a straight face.

"I told him it'd make it even harder when I left," Lawrence whispers, looking firmly at a point around Wendy's knees. "I _told _him that."

Even though he's not looking at her, he knows that Wendy's giant eyes are so sympathetic right now that it'd break him if he looked at her, and she stands on her toes and wraps her arms around him. Lawrence hugs her back, and thinks that the logical move right now, and what he wants to do more than anything, would be to cry like a baby on Wendy's shoulder while she gently stroke his hair, but instead, he bottles everything up, walks up to the kitchen table, sits down with his siblings, smiles even though everything hurts and even though he still has to take these fucking pills every day just to be able to stay on his feet.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Adam isn't sure what he expected. If the only fallout they've ever had in their friendship was after they'd kissed, of course it'd get even worse after they'd had sex.

They have a talk later that day, as Lou and Daniel are sitting with a learning book Lawrence has borrowed for them from a library. As his siblings are stuttering their way through learning how to spell "house," Lawrence tells Adam that it'll be hell to leave Adam as it is. What they did isn't going to help, and they need to get better at controlling themselves, ignore what they feel for each other. When Adam says that Lawrence leaving will be hell either way, Lawrence starts to cry, and Adam knows he can't argue with him then, so he gives up, holds Lawrence tight and rocks him back and forth, so incredibly supportive even though there's a part of him that hates Lawrence right now.

Just as much as he hates himself. For that one thought that refuses to leave his head, despite the fact that he truly wants Lawrence to make it.

_Well, you don't _have _to fucking go, do you? _

He knows that's not true. But he can't think about that right now. He's actually made contact with emotions that aren't anger during his friendship with Lawrence, dared to be happy, and even worse, loving. But now, all that's fading away. He doesn't think anything anymore, doesn't feel anything. Which is wonderful, to be honest.

Adam's regressing. The evil genius, which he thought would die when he left home, has come back to life, and it's even bigger now than it used to be. It's not just sitting in his stomach, giggling when he does something bad. It's under his skin. It controls his actions and he doesn't make the slightest effort to stop it.

Adam doesn't even try to stop the genius when it makes him smoke in the middle of history class. When he subtly slides his hand up the thigh of a girl sitting next to him and she looks at him, confused if she should get horny or appalled. He loves it. He loves the teachers' annoyance, and when they throw him out and send him to the principal. The only thing he loves more than that is seeing Lawrence's tortured gaze that Adam holds until he's closed the classroom door behind him.

He knows what that gaze means. _But Adam, you worked so hard to get out of here, are you going to give it all up when we're soon starting our last semester, blah blah blah…_

Adam knows all this. He doesn't give a shit.

Lawrence has studied endless nights with him, and that he wants Adam to succeed almost as much as he wants that for himself. Adam knows that. In fact, that's half the reason why he does it.

Lawrence disappointment feeds him. What used to break his heart is now his sole purpose in life. The bitter rush of joy he gets when he sees Lawrence's pleading eyes is the only thing he truly feels during the week after their night together, and he loves that.

If he actually let his emotions in right now, chances are good he'd smash his head into a wall or jam a rod mixer into his eye.

xxxxxxxxxxx

The first snow has just started to fall one of the many days when Adam shows up too late for school.

The lunch break has just started. Adam's head is grinding from being to the scrap yard last night. The place that used to be holy to him but is now just another place he goes without feeling anything and leaves the exact same way.

Adam walks into the cafeteria with a cigarette dangling loosely from his upper lip, subconsciously searching for Lawrence with his gaze and finds him. He's sitting with some other Ambitious Kids, and he looks up when Adam enters the room, but quickly looks down again. He's probably mad at Adam for coming home drunk last night, but Adam doesn't care, because they still got to sleep together.

Hell, the fact that no matter how disappointed Lawrence is in Adam, and no matter how drunk Adam is when he comes home, he still gets to crawl down in bed next to Lawrence and sleep engulfed in his warmth, is one of the few things that are still good about Adam's life.

Adam lights the cigarette and keeps scanning over the cafeteria. He's not sure why, maybe it's Lawrence's turned down eyes, maybe it's just the unbearable itching under his skin, but when he finds the table where the mandatory jocks are sitting, he walks straight up to them.

The jocks look up when Adam's suddenly standing next to them. They flex their muscles, probably not even aware of it, and Adam grins. He knows these guys. Their necks are pretty much the sizes of his waist, and one of them has a ring that can tear up a gash in his forehead. They've all beaten him up before.

"Hi, ladies," Adam says and leans against one empty chair by their table. "Oh, look at that," he adds with fake surprise as he sees the empty seat in front of him. "May I ask which one of you is under the table blowing the rest of you now? I bet it's Hudson."

The jocks look at each other, laugh in that way that they all know what it means, _heh heh heh heh, _and then look at Adam again.

"Faulkner, we just had a workout," one of them says, Adam thinks his name is Owen. "We're not in the mood for kicking around fags right now, but when we are, we'll let you know."

Adam's grin gets even wider.

"I'm sure, you must be tired. Those benches in the gymnasium are fucking ideal to bend someone over, aren't they?"

Owen's expression goes from amused and threatening to gaping slightly. Him and his friends look at each other, and then at Adam again.

They're not used to this, this open kind of provocation. In fact, they don't even want to beat up Adam now, because now, it'd be like they did it on his demand.

The jocks still stand up, looking slightly bewildered. Owen walks over to Adam in a way that probably looks menacing to others, but Adam knows just how far that is from the truth.

"Don't push me, Faulkner," he hisses, raises his fist.

The evil genius snickers. Adam purses his lips.

"I'll push you as hard as you want, Owen."

Then the fist lands on his face. Owen's not used to this, but he knows he has to hit Adam. It's his duty, even if Adam indirectly asks for it.

And even if Adam, who usually fights back even against guys twice his size, right now makes no effort whatsoever to stop him.

The loud buzz of chatter in the cafeteria doesn't stop at the first punch. Nor at the second punch, but when Owen, still with the look on his face like he's not entirely sure why he's doing this, and punches Adam for the third time, the whole room falls into a dead silence.

The dull pain spreads in Adam's face, he feels his very skull creaking when Owen hits him again, his head is jerked to the left and he sees the other jocks, just standing there. None of them know why they're doing this, when Adam so clearly wants it.

Another punch, and blood starts flowing freely from his nose. Adam closes his eyes and white stars are dancing before him. The evil genius snickers.

_Yeah, that's good, _Adam thinks as Owen hits him on the eye, it starts swelling up within seconds. _Hit me. You want it. You're better than me, and I'm a freak, I'm a fucking little monster and you hate me, so hit me. _

_Because I'm so fucking useless. Because I deserve it, you hate me and you should. _

Time seems to stand still, Adam looses track of the punches, and a voice rings through the silence right when it feels like his head is splitting open in halves.

"_Stop it!" _

The entire world seems to have gotten crooked, Adam isn't sure which way to lean in order to straighten up. When he finally manages to open his eyes, everything seems to be spinning. He manages to discern a couple of things. Like every student in the cafeteria staring at him. Owen standing in front of him with blood spatter on his team jersey, still not knowing what he's doing and why. And even more blood, Adam's blood, on the wall next to him.

And Lawrence in the middle of everything. Eyes wide, clutching to the book he's going to need for the next period. Adam wants to keep thinking in these tracks, _yeah, things just got a little too real for you now, didn't they? _but he can't.

Lawrence has always had that affect on him.

Adam isn't sure what happens after that. He doesn't think he passes out, it's more like watching a movie play in reverse, when you get the gist of what's happening but not the context. There's something about Lawrence grabbing his hand and leading him somewhere. Floor hard under his feet. Everything's spinning.

What he does know is that Lawrence is worried. That's almost enough to make it worth it.

When the world is slowing down and everything falls into place, Adam's sitting in the boy's bathroom, inside one of the stalls, on the closed toilet lid. The smell of urine is prickling at his consciousness, and Lawrence is kneeling on the floor in front of him. He must've gotten a first aid-kit from the nurse's office, Adam sees it opened on the floor next to him, its contents strewn out like Lawrence opened it in a hurry.

He's tending to Adam's wounds. His hands are on his face and he's so close that Adam feels his breath on his skin, and it's one of those moments that Adam would consider _close, _but not even he can think of the situation as romantic when he sees the look on Lawrence's face.

He doesn't even look disappointed. He just looks _sad. _

Adam sighs softly to signal that he's alive. Lawrence doesn't even look up. He's wiping the blood from under Adam's nose with a cotton ball, his movements stiff, almost rough, and not even when his hand brushes over a bruise on Adam's jaw line and causes a low grunt of pain, does he look him in the eye.

Adam tries to ignore it, but the evil genius doesn't want to. It wants to make it even worse.

"Am I being a good guinea pig?"

Lawrence's eyes shoot up.

"What?"

"I assume you're doing this for practice," Adam says sweetly. "Since you're going to be a doctor. Hell, most things you do with me seem to be for practice until you find something better…"

The little rationality he has asks him what the hell he's doing, but it's too late now. Lawrence's eyes narrow, and he throws the used cotton ball away with more force than necessary. Adam thinks he's going to storm out, but he immediately picks up a new one from the first aid-kit, carelessly spreads some disinfectant on it and starts cleaning the small cut that must be from Owen's thumbnail, right above Adam's swollen eye.

Adam makes sure to stay quiet until Lawrence is done and closes the first aid-kit. Lawrence doesn't seem to appreciate that. He still doesn't look at him.

"We're going to have to get an ice pack for your eye when we get back home," he says. "We've got ice in the freezer, right?"

"I think so," Adam answers quietly.

Lawrence nods, seems to make an attempt to stay focused but gives up, and puts one hand over his eyes. Adam's hands lie useless in his lap. There's no evil genius in his stomach. Just that stupid fucking guilt.

Lawrence only sits like that for a few seconds, before he takes his hand away and turns to Adam again. Adam forces himself to look back at him.

"Adam," Lawrence says, and brushes his hand against one of his bruises. "You know how… Adam," he repeats when the moment gets too big and Adam has to look down. "You know how much you mean to me. If I know that this is how you're going to act when I leave… Do you really think I'll be able to?"

Adam looks down again. Doesn't even try to think of an answer.

"You're not giving me a choice," Lawrence goes on, almost desperate. "You just… You know what, fine, fuck it. I'm not going anywhere, I'm staying."

Then he stands up. Adam keeps his eyes on the ground. He doesn't want to see Lawrence walking out, but even after he hears the door close behind him, he sees in his head how Lawrence keeps walking, and that glazed, hurtful look in his eyes that he's going to hide behind his mask before the next lesson starts.

He's longed for Lawrence to say those words ever since he heard about his scholarship. He didn't expect it to feel like this when he actually heard them.


	24. For Lawrence To Leave

**A/N: I IS BACK! Now tell me how much you missed me. XD No, seriously, I missed you all like hell, and of course, I had to write when I was gone, too, so let me present to you: Another chapter! And it's less angsty than the last one, but you know what these two are like… Things just can't be easy with them. ;)**

**24: For Lawrence To Leave**

Well, he got what he wanted. There's really no reason why it should feel like this.

Which is why Adam is even more annoyed with himself than usual when he leaves the bathroom after sitting there and staring blankly in front of himself for a few minutes, feeling the dull throbbing in the places Owen hit him.

He starts walking towards the gates, there's no way he's staying for the rest of the day. He should be happy. And if he can't be happy, he should at least have the evil genius' approval, it usually likes stuff like this. That look of great frustration he just saw on Lawrence's face is its bread and butter, especially if it's topped with some honest, pure _hurt. _

But there's still no snickering in Adam's chest. In fact, it hasn't felt this empty since he can remember.

Adam stops on his way out, flops down on a bench standing along the wall and rubs his hands against his face with a sigh. There are no students out now, the classes have already started, but even if there were, Adam doubts he'd be able to keep a straight face until he was outside.

Lawrence is the one leaving, it shouldn't feel this way for _him, _despite what they may have done in bed a while ago.

Adam shouldn't have to feel guilty for wanting to keep the one thing he's ever trusted to stay, and actually _has _stayed.

Even though deep down, Adam knows it doesn't work that way. He simply can't be happy about making Lawrence so guilty that he offers to give up college. No evil genius in the world can change that.

Not even in his worst times can Adam be happy about seeing that look of frustration on Lawrence's face. Even if it's Lawrence's fault that he's acting like such a punk again after actually bettering himself over the past year.

Adam drops his hands, sighs again. Then he takes out his wallet and looks inside. He's going to have to give up the one pack of cigarettes he's allowed this month, and cut back on the food money, but what the hell. It's all about priorities.

He starts walking towards the exit again, but then quickly turns around and walks towards one of the classrooms. He still has geography before he can leave.

He doesn't want to upset Lawrence further. And it wouldn't matter if Adam had just gone on a killing spree with an automatic gun; Lawrence would still care enough about Adam's future to be disappointed if he didn't show up to class.

xxxxxxxxxxx

For the past two years, Adam and Lawrence have walked together from school. They did even before they started living together. Today is the first time that Lawrence swings his bag upon his shoulder and starts walking out the classroom without even checking if Adam walks after him.

He hates Adam right now. He's managed to hide it during class, but there's a heavy, grey stone in his chest, shaving against the place where his happiness used to be.

He hates Adam, but is still honestly prepared to give up his life-long dream and only way out to stay with him.

As far as he can tell, Adam doesn't even follow him when he storms out the building. The tears are already stinging, bottled up for the entire final period, but Lawrence keeps pressing them down. It feels like he hasn't done anything but crying lately, and he needs _some _kind of boundaries, he can't keep weeping all the time when he's going to be…

Right. He's not going to be a doctor anymore.

Lawrence manages to swallow the tears before he gets home, but when he walks through the door, Lou tears her gaze from the TV show her and Daniel are watching and immediately asks why he's sad, and then Lawrence can't keep it down anymore. He buries his face in Lou's neck and cries silently in front of Elmo, and ignores her every time she asks him what happened.

When Adam comes home, around dinnertime, Lawrence has almost forgotten that he's part of their little family, too. At this point, he's stopped crying, made dinner for the rest of them, gone over some of the spelling practices with Lou and Daniel and told Wendy what happened with him and Adam, so she gives Adam a dark glance when he comes into the kitchen. Lawrence looks up. Adam's cheeks are red, his breathing strained, like he's been running the entire way here, as he tucks his Walkman into his pocket. He seems to be hiding something behind his back.

"Hey," he exhales and takes his jacket off. "Is there any food left?"

Lawrence shakes his head.

"Sorry, I wasn't sure if you were coming home."

Adam nods. Lawrence knows he should be mad at him, but can't really bring himself to. More than anything, he feels blank.

"No problem," Adam says. "I'll make something myself. Listen…"

He pauses, looks down. For a second, he looks so insecure that Lawrence feels like he's witnessing something that Adam has kept hidden even from him for all this time. When he speaks up again, he's turned to Lou and Daniel.

"Guys," he says and kneels down between them. "What do you say? You want to watch something you're not really allowed to watch while I talk to Lawrence?"

Lou's eyes widen, and Daniel grins uncertainly and glances over at Lawrence, like he's not sure if he wants to disobey him.

"Like what?" Lou says breathlessly, and Adam pretends to ponder for a bit.

"What about 'The Simpsons?'" he then says, Lou squeals and rushes away to the futon in front of the tiny TV, and Daniel follows her after Lawrence has given him an approving nod.

Adam smiles warmly at them. He loves them, he always has, and they love him, too. The tears that have just dried out starts searing below again when Lawrence thinks about what it's going to be like for them when they leave.

"Wendy," Adam then says and straightens up. "Do you mind letting us talk for a bit?"

"Are you going to guilt-trip him again?" Wendy spits out, giving Adam that look again.

Lawrence looks firmly into the table, can't stand seeing two of the people he loves the most turning against each other this way, but still knows that Adam meets Wendy's eyes with the ones he used to save for when he looked at Claire, back when he hated her.

"I know you support him all the way and you're just a _so _much better friend than I am," Adam says between gritted teeth, "but I'm trying to fix things now, so would you just fucking let us talk?"

Lawrence looks up and sees Wendy glare at Adam a little longer, before she finally pushes her chair back and goes to sit with Lou and Daniel in front of the TV. Adam takes a deep breath, and looks at Lawrence almost questioningly, as if he's asking for permission to sit down. When Lawrence doesn't say anything, he slumps down on the chair where Wendy sat earlier and leans forward to look Lawrence in the eye. He doesn't seem quite sure what to say, though.

"Listen…" Adam says. "It's not that I don't support you, and I don't want you to feel… Fuck, this sounded so much better when I practiced out in the hallway. I don't want you to…"

He stops again, lowering the hand that he'd raised in some kind of undecided gesture, before he gives up, rolls his eyes at his own nervousness, and takes out the big paper bag that he's hidden under the table.

"Here," Adam says and almost throws it at Lawrence. "Just open the damn thing."

Lawrence flinches in surprise when Adam hands over the bag. He looks from it to Adam for a second, before Adam impatiently beckons to the bag, and Lawrence looks inside it. Inside the bag, there are two pairs of brand new, faded pair of jeans, five or six pairs of socks, and in the bottom, so small that Lawrence almost doesn't see them, a pair of nail clippers.

Lawrence looks up at Adam. Then into the bag again. Adam waits for his reaction, looking uncomfortable, almost guilty, but Lawrence isn't sure what he's supposed to do.

"For me?" he finally gets out.

"Yeah," Adam says, and then starts ranting in a way that almost sounds apologetic. "You know how when we first met, you didn't have nail clippers, and your nails still had to be short so you sanded them down on the mudguards of the trailer, and you got these ugly scrapes and shit… And-and you only have one pair of jeans, and they're all worn out because you've had them since you were thirteen, so I figured you need new ones. And you always lose your socks somehow, and I figured… Now that you'll go off to Canada, you're going to have to look like a _respectable young man, _and since I won't be there to buy you things then, I figured it'd be better if I got them for you now. So they won't send you back home for looking like white trash."

Lawrence smiles widely and looks at Adam, who doesn't look back at him, but at his hands that he nervously twists in his laps. He keeps talking as if he's scared of what Lawrence will say if he gets a word in.

"I was going to get you a surgical journal, since those are probably more useful for you than that medical journal I got you first year, but I ran around the entire town looking for a place where you don't have to order them, like, a month ahead, and I didn't find anything. And then I thought of the idea with the jeans, but I didn't know what size you had… I even called Claire for help."

He still doesn't look up. Lawrence squeezes the bag in his hands. He knows that this is so much more than a little clothes and some nail clippers, and Adam does, too. They don't have to say it.

There's a brief pause as Adam gathers up the courage to say what he really wants to say, what this ramble has just been a stalling for. When he starts talking again, it's quieter, since he obviously doesn't want Wendy and the kids to hear him now that he's actually saying something real.

"You know what I'm like," he mumbles. "Between now and when you leave, I'm going to have… A million freakouts, and start bitching around about how you're abandoning me and whatever… And I want you to stay, I really do, but when I act like that, you have to remember that no matter what stupid, selfish shit I do, I… I want you to be happy. You know? Deep down."

Lawrence smiles again.

"Deep, deep down."

"Really deep down," Adam agrees with a chuckle. "Like, you can barely see it."

They're quiet for a bit. Then Adam looks up again, and Lawrence gets warm inside in that aching way that he's going to get more and more when he looks at Adam now days.

They're going to do what they've always done. Pretend that there's nothing between them, because that's what they have to do. When Lawrence feels just how much this thought hurts, he smiles miserably again and shakes his head.

"I told you it'd make it harder for me to leave, Adam," he says quietly.

Adam smiles, too, though with an undertone.

"You were right as usual," he says. And then, after a pause: "Do you regret it?"

Lawrence considers it for a second. Then he shakes his head with the smallest motion possible.

"No," he says. "No, I don't regret it."

Adam nods. Lawrence has the feeling that that was all he needed to know to be okay with this.

"Good," Adam says.

Then they grin stupidly at each other, and Lawrence puts his arms around Adam and hugs him tight, inhaling his leather and sweat. And Adam hugs back, something big and warm swelling inside him and killing the evil genius again.

It'll be even harder for Lawrence to leave now that they've said this. But if they hadn't said it, he never would've been able to go at all.


	25. The Ones Left Behind

A/N: ANOTHER CHAPTER! (The entire world lets out the breath it's been holding) It can be considered just a 2000-word filler, but I figured Adam has to slip a little deeper into his self-hatred. So things can get worse before they get better. ^^ Hope you'll like it!

xxxxxxxxxxx

**25: The Ones Left Behind**

"I think Kirk and Spock are gay," Adam says one night, when they're all watching Star Trek reruns, after spending the entire day looking for Christmas decorations that won't break the budget completely.

"What's 'gay?'" Daniel asks, and Lawrence snorts, with a hint of a blush.

"That's a different discussion. And Kirk is a ladies' man with a hint of pedophilia, Adam," he adds when Adam looks like he's about to explain the concept of gay to his six years old little brother.

"It's overcompensating," Adam says, dead certain. "Seriously, look at them."

Wendy shakes her head with a purse of her lips.

"I don't think they're gay. They're definitely doing it off-screen, but I don't think that means they're gay. They just love each other so, so much that… It reaches every level. Like, it goes deeper than friendship. Doesn't mean they're gay."

Lawrence makes an annoyed huff and shifts on the couch.

"You two know that Spock leaves the Enterprise between the Original Series and the first movie, right?"

Adam doesn't have an answer to this. It just got a bit too personal. Wendy probably senses that, too, which might be exactly why she goes on talking. She's seen the way Adam and Lawrence have acted around each other since Lawrence came home and told them about the scholarship.

"That doesn't mean they're not head over heels for each other," she says and looks up at Lawrence. "Spock still loves Kirk, any idiot can tell. But either Kirk scared him off, or he just felt like the time they shared had been amazing enough. And even though he didn't want it to end, he'd still gotten so much from it, it could last him a lifetime."

There's a pause. Even Lou looks back and forth between Adam and Lawrence now, at Lawrence's weak blush and Adam's stubbornly turned-away eyes. But no one says anything.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Christmas comes, like every year before that. Adam wouldn't have minded skipping it, but he doesn't even open his mouth about it to Lawrence. There wouldn't be any point. Lawrence has lived an entire life without traditions, hell, no day had been similar to the previous, there had been no telling if he'd get to work, get to eat, if his mom would throw bottles at his head. Now that everything's stable enough for him to create routines, he wouldn't give it up no matter who asked him.

So Adam plays along. He picks up presents for everyone. They can't afford a turkey, and if they did, they wouldn't know how to cook it, but roasted chicken works just as well. Adam's never been able to taste any difference between the two anyway. When he gets home, the apartment's cold, and even though there's a part of him that wants to be anywhere in the entire world than here, it gets overruled when he sees Lawrence's smile and Lou running around with glitter in her hair.

"_Food!" _Lawrence exclaims and circles the dinner table to get to Adam and snatch the paper bag out of his hand. "Oh, and hi, Adam."

"You just want me for my chicken," Adam says and takes his jacket off, the snowflakes on the fabric are melting into tiny water pearls.

"Well, I kind of like you, too," Lawrence says and sticks his head in the bag, taking a deep sniff and closing his eyes. "Oh god, yes."

Then he runs off to find a good plate for the chicken, joining Wendy at the counter as she tries to show Lou and Daniel how to put the Twinkies they have for desert in concentric circles.

It should be Adam's very definition of a perfect night. He's surrounded by the people he loves - the _only _ones he loves, actually, and they're all so happy. Lawrence, who tends to look like he's thirty-five rather than seventeen, laughs in that way that actually makes him look young. He doesn't allow himself to do that very often.

And Lou is happy. At this point, Adam loves her enough to get warm inside in a really sissy way when he sees her grab Daniel's hands and bounce around, spinning in dance, and when they open their gifts from him, and Daniel gets so happy when he finds the book Matilda by Roal Dahl that he stands up and wraps his slim arms around Adam's neck, all Adam can do is to not break into a fit of tears against that ash-blond hair.

This night is perfect. It feels like their apartment is their own little bubble, everything that's bad is on the outside, and it can't get to them here. And sure, sooner or later they'll have to go outside, but that doesn't matter, because they still have this one night.

That's what makes it so hard for Adam.

He can't do this. It hurts too damn much. But he does it anyway.

If it made Lawrence happy, he'd take his camera and chuck it out the window.

Later, the kids are asleep, Wendy's left for work, and Adam and Lawrence, as usual, are left by the dinner table, too lazy to get up and clear the dishes. This is usually when they have their ridiculously emotional talks, but Lawrence doesn't really seem to be in the mood for it right now. He's still a bit too happy, and Adam the exact opposite. He won't be able to open his mouth without crying.

So they just sit there for a while. Adam has his feet on Wendy's chair, Lawrence is picking his teeth with his thumbnail. The food is settling peacefully in Adam's stomach, even though he doesn't like to eat much. The worry is on the outside.

"Hey," he says after a minute. "Remember the first Christmas we spent together?"

Lawrence smiles widely and looks down at the table.

"In the trailer, yeah… Was that the Christmas with the egg cartons?"

"Yeah," Adam says, smiling also. "And your mom was throwing a fit at me…"

Lawrence laughs.

"I still have that medical journal, you know."

"You better," Adam shoots back. "It was expensive."

They sit there and smile at mutual memories, but they don't talk after that. They both know that they could stay there and reminisce until dawn, and they still wouldn't be able to cover all the things about that night two years ago. Their breaths forming white clouds in front of their faces as they were sitting on the stairs of the trailer. One hand freezing but the other one warm, sharing Adam's one pair of gloves between them. And the mere fact that this was the first Christmas for either of them that felt like Christmas, at least in as long as they could remember.

They both remember. They might not be able to talk about it, but they remember.

What formed between them that night.

And the fact that they won't even be together next Christmas.

When Lawrence sees Adam's averted gaze, he doesn't have to say anything about it. Instead, he leans over the table and gently puts his hand over Adam's fist, tightly clenched next to his plate. Adam's initial reaction is to pull away, but he can't, of course he can't, so he just sits there, Lawrence stroking his hand, as tears burn behind his eyelids.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The holidays continue. Adam doesn't see a difference between the days following Christmas and any other day, other than the fact that they don't have to go to school.

Or, of course he does. Even Lawrence allows himself to rest during these weeks, his sudden calmness making him even more of a center in their family than usual. With all this free time, Lawrence actually goes from a faux smile to cover the inner chaos to genuinely happy. Instead of being there for Lou and Daniel because he has to, he does it because he wants to, pushing their home-schooling harder than ever but also having more time to play with them.

"Did you remember your pills today?" Adam asks as they're having breakfast the day before New Year's Eve. For someone as organized as Lawrence, he's incredibly forgetful when it comes to his own wellbeing.

"I don't need them right now," Lawrence says, smiling proudly under his uncombed bangs.

Adam smiles back at him, even though that simple comment plants deep, sincere pain and self-hatred in the middle of his chest.

Lawrence starts planning the move to Canada. It probably wouldn't be very time-consuming if he didn't make it that way, but he does, he doesn't stop planning for stupid things like eating, Adam has to place a sandwich on a plate next to him as he sits there with his stupid papers that he printed at the stupid library and the stupid traveling agencies and _how fucking much do you have to plan when the fucking school pays everything for you? _

"The student loan is enough for a studio apartment right next to campus," Lawrence says with his mouth full of egg salad. Adam is fairly sure that he's talking to himself, but he still stays on his seat on the other side of the table, just so Lawrence will look less schizophrenic. "I don't have to think about that. Mr. Salin said that when the college saw my grades and heard about my situations, they'd probably pay for Lou's and Daniel's plane tickets, but just in case, I should probably start saving some money now already just to be sure I can afford tickets for both of them. Oh, and course literature, but I'm fairly sure they have a fund for that… I'll have to call them and ask, or maybe Mr. Salin knows… But at least I already have a medical journal."

At this, he actually glances up at Adam, a grin playing at the corner of his mouth. And Adam can smile back, truthfully, for once.

Lawrence knows that he'll get a full list of course literature and details about the costs at the beginning of the summer. But he's actually having fun. He gets that slightly perverted thrill of organization that criminals get when they manage to come up with a foolproof escape plan from jail.

He's having fun with this. And Adam does his best not to ruin it for him.

He doesn't even use the same childish, pacifier-like defense mechanisms he used right after he found out about Lawrence's scholarship. He doesn't stay out all night, or drink himself senseless, or smoke more than usual. Lawrence would be disappointed, and probably unable to leave, so Adam doesn't do it. In reality, Lawrence knows him well enough to know that something is wrong if Adam closes the front door in a certain way, so of course he should be able to see when Adam pretends to be happy, but he doesn't now. Maybe he just doesn't want to.

Adam can't blame him. And he doesn't really mind. He can't remember the last time someone honestly loved him, at least in a way he couldn't smack away. Of course it would go away in no time if he actually got to feel it.

One night, Adam goes out, alone. He very rarely did that since him and Lawrence got close enough to go out together, but he started again after Lawrence started planning his getaway, and even though they're officially friends again, it would feel weird to ask.

Plus, he doesn't really want Lawrence with him right now. Most of the time, he can suppress all the annoying, incoherently anxious thoughts that buzz around his head, but this is one of those nights that he can't, and he'd much rather be alone until he's sorted them out. Or at least gotten his act together enough to suppress them again.

He's sitting in his sacred scrap yard. There aren't a lot of people here now, since no matter how much you hate your family, when it's this cold, most unhappy punk rockers would still rather stay home with them than being out here. Adam can sit alone on the hood of a car, hears soft but angry conversation in the front seat next to him. He still loves it here, even though he has a warm place to stay now days. Even though he won't get beaten up when he goes back home.

Adam hasn't talked to anyone in his family since he left that day, except for Claire. Mom tried to call right after he'd left, but he hadn't been able to say anything. He heard her desperate apologies on the other end, but they only made it worse. All he could think of saying to her was _well, you had six fucking years to say this, didn't you? _Ah, what the hell. He was just happy that dad hadn't tried to get him back there.

Adam hasn't thought a lot about his life before he left. Not the early childhood, when things actually had been good, or afterwards, when it wasn't anymore. He sort of wishes that it will all have turned out to be a bad dream, something he can wake up from with Lawrence's arms around his waist.

But as he's sitting on the rusty hood of a car and doesn't have anything to distract him from those memories, he remembers what it was like. Not before he left, but before everything.

His sexuality is such a stupid little thing. Just a stupid little thing that shouldn't matter at all. But he does remember the years before, his mom shaking her head at him and Claire when they played their videogames and Claire got so mad at Adam when he won that her face literally turned red. Dad picking him up and spinning him around above his head. He remembers looking down on his father's face, and he knows, he _knows _that the wrinkles were fewer, silver hairs thinner, and the eyes nowhere near as… _Pained _as after he'd told them.

That's all he ever was. At least afterwards. They will forever remember him as The One Who Ruined Everything.

Just like Lawrence.

The thought hits him like a freight train, and Adam feels his hands clutching into his pockets.

That's why Lawrence is so eager to leave. He probably could've found another medical school, maybe not close by, but there must be some damn medical college that's at least in the _country, _right? He just picked that one because it'd be far away.

So he could take his siblings and get them as far away from his clingy, gay friend as possible.

It's happening again. That bad thing inside Adam is ruining everything again, and he has to wipe his cheeks from the tears that are freezing up.

The thought that violently hit him at first is now slowly sinking in, making space in his brain, and in Adam's self-hating, grief-stricken mind, it makes perfect sense.

_He would've stayed. He would've. If it hadn't been for you. _


	26. We're Grownups, We Shouldn't Cry

A/N: Hello, my sweethearts. I have a new chapter right here, that mainly exist because I thought it was only fair to get Lawrence's view on this whole thing, and exactly why he's been acting so damn distant towards Adam. (Is it weird that it annoys the hell out of me when he does that, even though it's me who's making him do it? Ah, what the hell…) And those of you who watch Grey's Anatomy might know that I stole the ET-comparison from there, but I thought that wouldn't matter much, since fanfiction is awesome like that. ;) Enjoy!

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**26: We're Grownups, We Shouldn't Cry**

Adam pulls back over the next couple of weeks. He thinks Lawrence doesn't notice, but he does. Of course he does. Lawrence almost gets annoyed with Adam, and with himself for being so tuned in on Adam's feelings. If he'd just been a little more oblivious or not known Adam as well, it would've been so much easier to be excited about college, but as it is, there's one drop of cold in his excited bubbling, and that drop is Adam's averted gaze. The slight flinch when Lawrence touches him.

"You've seen 'ET,' right?" Lawrence says one night. "You know how they synch with each other? So when Elliot gets sick, ET gets sick, and when Elliot gets drunk, ET gets drunk?"

Adam smiles bleakly.

"We're a bit like that."

Lawrence smiles back.

"Yeah, we are."

If Adam got what Lawrence implied with that, he doesn't show it. Not that night, or any of the other nights they could've talked about things. Lawrence is usually the one who starts those conversations, that's the way it's been ever since they started taking their long walks during their first year, but he's busy. He's extending his scholarship, saving money for flight tickets, makes calls to Canada from school because it'd be too expensive for him to call from home. Adam doesn't bring it up, of course, and that makes Lawrence even more annoyed. It makes him want to pick him up and shake him.

Or kiss him. Hug him until his goddamn ribs snapped, just to make Adam understand.

This annoying goddamn bond between him and Adam. It might've been what kept him alive this far, but it's going to be the death of him someday. If not soon.

Chances are good he'll kill himself if he has to see that look in Adam's eyes one more time.

Like he's still this unloved little child that doesn't have a real home to go to.

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The snow is about to melt away when Lawrence and Wendy go out for a walk one night.

It's been a while since they did that. In a way, it feels familiar, and in another way, completely new. After all, this is the way Lawrence grew up; walking with her over the scrap yard, or sometimes, on the boardwalk, if they had the time to walk there or managed to sneak onto a bus. But that was before they had blocks this fancy to walk in, and before Lawrence had Adam to take the walks with. Everything's changed now.

It's like coming back to your childhood home and see that someone's painted the front door in a weird color.

"How are you feeling?" Wendy asks when they've been walking for so long that they've actually gotten back to their old neighborhoods, now walking over a bridge.

A creek runs beneath them, dirty water and used takeaway cups floating about sleepily. Lawrence remembers walking over this bridge when he was seven and Wendy and him and just gotten to know each other. Back then, this brown, slowly streaming water had been the wildest thing he'd ever seen, the bridge a giant triumphal arch. And they weren't allowed to be up there, absolutely not, it could kill them. But they went here anyway.

Lawrence smiles to himself at Wendy's question. She's a lot like Adam in that aspect. Even though they're the ones he leaves behind, and unlike them, he's been too worked up to think about it, they're still more concerned about how he's doing.

"I'm fine. I think it hasn't really gotten to me yet. I try to… Stay on my toes, you know?"

Wendy nods with a small smile. They stop at the top of the bridge, looking down into the water.

"I thought you'd be freaking out by now," she says and lets her pale arms dangle over the rusty handrail.

Lawrence smiles, too. Though he already feels it coming a little less naturally.

"Yeah. It'll probably hit me when I'm on the plane over there."

"Lou and Daniel seem kind of fine with the moving."

"Yeah," Lawrence says and folds his arms on the rail. "They're definitely excited about starting school… But I don't think they've really gotten that Adam's not coming."

Wendy turns to him.

"Have you told them?"

"Of course I have," Lawrence says, keeping his eyes on the water. "I've told them a lot of times. Lou just nods and says okay, and Daniel looks a little sad… But then as soon as I try to talk about moving again, they just ask where Adam's going to stay in Canada and if he's going to the same school as me."

Wendy keeps looking at Lawrence for a while before she looks over the handrail again. Then she sighs.

"They'll be fine as long as they have you, so they should get over it sooner or later," she says thoughtfully. "But it'll probably be worse for them with Adam not being there than me not coming."

The last words Wendy says hit Lawrence like a punch in the gut. He snaps his head towards her, feeling like she must've said something else than what he heard.

"What?"

Wendy looks back at him, wide-eyed, like she doesn't really get why he's so surprised.

"What?" she echoes before turning her whole body towards him.

Lawrence can't really get the words out. She should know what he means. She should know just how weird it sounds to move to a different goddamn country without someone who means this much.

"Y-you're not coming?" he stutters out, not quite noticing how hard he clutches to the rail of the bridge. "You're staying here?"

Wendy looks at him under now furrowed brows. She's always tried her hardest to understand his feelings, or at least accept them when they don't make sense to her, but this seems to be something they simply can't meet halfway about. She can't see any way she's coming with him, and Lawrence can't imagine being there without her.

"Lawrence, I _can't _come," Wendy says, clasping her hands together nervously. "You've extended your scholarship as far as you can to pay for the kids' tickets, we need all of my paycheck to pay for the rent until you leave…"

She probably has more to say, but her voice trails off when she sees Lawrence's the way Lawrence looks at her. He doesn't listen to her anymore anyway. This is when it all comes to him, a cold hand clutching around his insides, and he maintains his spasmodic grip on the rail just to stay on his feet.

Lawrence knew that Wendy wouldn't be able to come with him. Somewhere, he knew that, and truth is, she's not the most important one he leaves behind, but that's exactly why it hasn't hit him until now.

He can't go away without Wendy. The mere thought makes that cold hand clutch tighter.

And the thought of going away without Adam can't even be thought. It would be too much.

"You have to come with me!" Lawrence blurts out, and he's just as surprised as she is at the stinging tears welling up. "I'm going to fucking _Canada, _Wendy! How the hell am I supposed to… Without you… And Ada…"

He shuts up abruptly, can't even say that fucking name, turns away from Wendy's wide eyes and hides his face in his arms, folded on the handrail. He feels his trembling hands fisting, scraping off the chipped paint on the cold steel. He doesn't want to cry in front of Wendy, even though he has a thousand times before, because it's horrible enough already.

Those big, brown eyes staring at him, knowing that they'll only be there as his comfort for another couple of months.

Wendy, true to her nature, still tries to console him with undeniable logic.

"Lawrence," she says and puts her hand on his arm. "You've wanted out of this goddamn town since you were _twelve. _And you knew you'd have to go alone and leave everything. Why is this… Why is it such a big deal now?"

Lawrence can't answer her. But as usual, he doesn't have to. Wendy stays an arm's length away for another couple of seconds, before she steps closer, wraps both arms around Lawrence's neck and buries her face in the collar of his jacket, and the tears start flowing even harder, even though Lawrence blinks intently, like that's supposed to hold them down.

He lifts his face slightly from his arms and looks down at the water. He tries to feel the way he used to feel as a kid, when he came up here with Wendy and looked at the brown swirls, mercilessly twisting with their latte-colored foam floating up on the waves.

All he sees is pollution.

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Lawrence has no idea how long they stand there. Wendy doesn't even imply that they should go back home, even when he's stopped crying, or when the night creeps up and the cold gets even more intense, and her jacket is still worn even thinner than his. But after a while, all the sleepless nights start to take their toll on him, and in the safety of her arms, Lawrence falls into something that's not sleep, but some kind of dreamless, heavily sedated slumber. That's when Wendy lifts her head from his shoulder and looks at the streams underneath them. The water is almost black when it's this dark.

"I've thought about jumping so many times," she mumbles. "Every time we went up here and I was old enough to even know what suicide was, I wanted to jump from here. Not that the fall would kill me, but the streams are strong. I'd get pulled down pretty quickly."

Lawrence's eyes remain closed. Wendy's thumb strokes his face softly.

"Because my life…" Wendy goes on. "I was just… Tired. I was tired of being hungry, sleeping in fucking car wrecks, getting felt up by the junkies down in the trailer park…"

A cold wind draws over the water, echoing under the bridge.

"But then I thought about you," Wendy says. "You were the one thing keeping me… Not sane, but… You had all these big plans, Larry. I never had that. But I still felt meaningful, somehow… Just because you needed me."

Pause.

"You've kept me alive all these years," she concludes. Her voice sounds strangely thick. "Your work is done. You have to leave everything, and that includes me. I'll live. I promise you I will, you will, too, and you can look me up when you're a hotshot. If I have a phone number at that point, that is."

Wendy's eyes suddenly feel burning, swelling up in a weird way, something inside her loosening up. Two big tears trickle down her face, but she wipes them away quickly. Lawrence has only seen her cry once or twice, and she didn't like it. Even if she doesn't think he'll remember this later on, if he's even awake now, this moment shouldn't be ruined by something as silly as tears. This is their goodbye, after all.

Then Lawrence's head slowly tips to the side, his forehead resting on her temple. His eyes are only half-open, but Wendy, for some stupid reason, feels terrified.

"Barefoot Girl."

His lips barely move, but Wendy catches it. She smiles at Lawrence's drowsy expression, and draws her hand over her cheek to wipe away more tears. That's all the proof she needed that he's heard every word she's said and will definitely remember it, but that's not as sad as it should be.

In Lawrence's mind, she'll always be his Barefoot Girl, even though she does have shoes now. If he's lucky enough to have some things that are unchangeable.

"Yes," she says, her voice sounding strange in that way again. "Yeah, that's me."

She lets Lawrence stay in his half-sleep for a little while longer, their heads resting together, and Wendy hopes that Lawrence will be able to talk to Adam tomorrow, that she was a good warm-up for what'll be ten times harder. Then she tears his arms off the rail, pulling him up straight, and then they walk back home, leaving the rushing water behind.


	27. And Yet, There's Something There

A/N: WHOOP, more teen-angst with our favorite boys! I know there's a lot of slow-building right now, but that's mainly because Lawrence is leaving soon, him and Adam are getting used to that idea and if I threw in this huge, dramatic event in the middle of that, it'd be a huge cockblock. Or… Maybe that's not the right word. But you know what I mean. YOU GET ME. FUCK, THIS MOMENT IS BEAUTIFUL. (I shouldn't write AN's when I'm tired… I'll regret this dearly in the morning. XD)

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**27: And Yet, There's Something There**

Out of a complete coincidence, when Adam and Lawrence's class goes on a field trip during their first week on the new semester, on the bus ride over there, they ride past Harlem Hospital Center. Its grey concrete dull and many windows flashing in the sunlight.

Lawrence glances at Adam, both of them thinking the exact same thing. It was almost exactly two years ago they were here with Daniel, him wrapped up in Adam's jacket and Lou's teeth chattering in her pale, sunken face. That late night in the waiting room, when they were finally safe. The first time in months when Lawrence could be certain that no one that he loved was hungry, cold or even unhappy.

And the first time he said it to Adam. _I wish you were my brother. _

Adam looks back at Lawrence as the bus drives on. It feels like the first time in six months that they fully understand each other's feelings.

Later that day, Lawrence asks Daniel if he remembers that winter when he got so sick that they had to take him to a hospital. Daniel shakes his head, wide-eyed, and Adam smiles secretively as he sits down next to them.

"That's the first time we met," he says as he takes a sip of his coffee.

"Really?" Daniel says, searches his mind thoroughly for a second before he shakes his head again. "I don't remember it at all."

"Well, to be exact," Lawrence says, with a sly look at Adam, "the first time you met, Adam was helping me pin egg cartons to the walls of the trailer."

Adam's grin grows wider, and Daniel looks between them as if to see if they're serious.

"What?" he says after a few seconds, and then both Adam and Lawrence explode in a roar of laughter, actually hearing how absurd it sounds, how absurd everything was back then.

Lawrence is so glad Daniel doesn't remember that. He hopes that Daniel will grow up with his old life nothing but a story Lawrence tells him sometimes. Real, emotional, but far away.

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It's just starting to be spring again, shy little flower buds peeking up on the bushes Adam passes on the way to work.

Winter passed by way too quickly. He sort of wished it'd last forever, this new Lawrence he saw, all carefree and excited as he planned for Canada, in the meantime as he hated that Lawrence with a passion and would trade him for the hollow-eyed, sleep-deprived one he'd seen before any day.

Adam stops right on the sidewalk and picks up his camera where it hangs around his neck. On the park on the other side of the street, there are two little girls, presumably sisters, sitting oppose to each other. The oldest one has a pink umbrella over her head even though it's not raining, and the younger one has a smaller pink umbrella over her head even though it's not raining. Both of them popping out from the green-grey background of the trees and the grass, and he has to take a picture.

Lawrence hasn't gotten back to his old ways since school started again. He can study without that slight panic in his expression, he falls asleep on time without waking up screaming in the middle of the night. It's probably not as frightening now days, just because he knows for sure that he's going to get to where he's worked so hard to be. He's rid of the uncertainty, and then he can relax. Adam keeps hoping that the uncertainty is going to come back soon, and then feels so disgusted with himself for thinking that that he can barely stand it.

But even without the hysterical manners, Adam has noted a difference in Lawrence's behavior lately.

It started about a month ago, when Lawrence and Wendy came home from a walk. It was late, the kids were asleep and Adam was tired as fuck, he knew he should've gone to bed hours ago because they had a test the other day, but Lawrence wasn't home yet so there was no point in him going to bed. He wouldn't be able to sleep without him there, anyway. Then he suddenly heard keys in the lock, and then Wendy came in, her face cautiously turned to the ground, and Adam felt that usual twang of bitter jealousy when he noticed that she was holding his hand, even though Lawrence seemed so tired that he barely could've noticed it.

"Hey," Wendy said, her voice sounding weird, as she gently put Lawrence down on the bed next to Adam. "Sorry we took so long, we…"

She didn't finish the sentence, didn't even think of a lie. Adam looked from her still turned-down face to Lawrence, who snuffed in contentment as he sank into the mattress.

"You okay?" he asked, almost whispering, as Wendy pretended to put a lot of focus into taking off her shoes.

"Yeah," Wendy mumbled, her fingers trembling as she took off her jacket. "Just… I tried to talk to him about him going away. He didn't take it very well."

Adam opened his mouth to ask her more about it, but she'd already retreated over to the bed she shares with Lou, stripping down to her pajamas probably mainly because she knew that Adam couldn't talk to her when she was half naked. And either way, at that point, Lawrence's breathing was slow and even, and even though Adam suddenly wanted to shake him until he was awake, ask him exactly what had upset him, that desire was always there.

To just crawl down next to him and feel him.

It made it hard for Adam to do anything but changing into his pajamas, take Lawrence's shoes and pants off, and then huddle under the blankets, their own cocoon.

Adam still hasn't gotten Wendy to tell him what happened between them that night, and asking Lawrence about it would just be weird. But it's not like it's not his business, considering how differently Lawrence has acted since then.

Before that night, Lawrence acted like Adam was more or less his pet. Nice to have around, but not like his existence depended on it, like it was before that stupid scholarship came along and ruined everything. After that night, though, it's not even like they're two separate people. They're tethered to each other.

Even if Adam just leaves Lawrence to go to the bathroom or because they don't have the same class that period, when Lawrence sees him again, he gets a look in his eyes like he's glad that Adam is still alive, and he walks up to him, a not-so-subtle brush of hand against hand, and Adam gets too warm inside to ask why it's such a big deal that they're together again after being apart for an hour.

Adam takes a few pictures of the girls in the park, trying to work them from different angles. _Click, click, click. _But then their dad steps up to them from where he's been sitting by on a bench, and Adam takes his camera down again. He's been bashed before for taking pictures of unsupervised little kids.

He was happy about it at first. The way Lawrence couldn't sit next to him without touching, smiled widely every time he saw him. But then he saw that hint of sadness, almost desperation, in those smiles, and that made it harder.

Adam keeps walking, with a hand safe on his camera. Taking pictures has always cleared his mind, even from shit like this. And he still doesn't have to be at work for a while, he can keep walking around for a bit. The longer he stays out, the happier Lawrence is going to be when he gets back home, after all.

He knows deep down why Lawrence is acting the way he does. He just prefers not to think about it. That's the way he did it before Lawrence got him to be all in touch with his feelings, and that worked out fine.

Adam swings his camera around more carelessly than he really dares to as he keeps walking.

He's going to survive without Lawrence. He doesn't doubt that, most days. Lawrence makes it a lot harder when he's acting this way, but even now, it's not impossible.

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Adam comes home late one night, alcohol and cigarette smoke in a cloud around him. Most of it isn't from him, just smell setting in his clothes from being at the scrap yard. He's not out of control drunk in any way, but he is _drunk,_ and he expects Lawrence to already be in bed, but of course he isn't.

Adam isn't the only one who can't fall asleep without the other one next to him.

That alone isn't very weird. The weird part is that Lawrence is drunk right now, too.

"Hey," Lawrence says, a bit too slowly, cautious not to slur, as Adam closes the door behind him.

"Hey," Adam replies, keeping his voice down to not wake up the kids, and takes his jacket off. He makes no effort at all to appear sober. He knows he's not drunk enough for it to be embarrassing or irresponsible. But he is drunk enough for it to affect his judgment, and Lawrence seems to know that with just one look.

"Where have you been?" Lawrence says, leaning one elbow on his knee and his head in his palm.

"The scrap yard," Adam replies as he unlaces his shoes.

"Was it fun?"

"Yeah," Adam says and walks up to the bed. "You seem to have had some fun on your own, though."

Lawrence grins lazily. It looks even more distorted when the apartment is dark. Adam deliberately doesn't sit down next to him. He knows what will happen if he does.

"Yeah…" Lawrence says, closing his eyes with a brief sigh. "Yeah, I did, I… You know… We had some beer…"

His voice dies out. Then he looks up at Adam again. Ruffled, willing, open, so damn appealing.

"Come… Come and sit here with me."

Adam feels his gaze darken.

"No."

"Come on."

"No, Lawrence. I'm going to stay right here."

Lawrence's smile fades. Not even the alcohol can make this situation funny, Adam feels that, too. There's something prickling at his heart through the fuzziness, and the way Lawrence looks at him isn't helping.

"Please," Lawrence goes on, but when Adam doesn't budge, he adds, with a pleading edge: "You… You're still sleeping here tonight, aren't you?"

Adam looks back at him. Then at the bed. Lawrence's shirt, wrinkled at the collar, showing the tiniest strip of skin at his chest.

"Sure I will," he says.

Lawrence's smile cracks in a smile, so sincere that he almost doesn't look drunk at all.

It's a good thing he is, though, or he might see that Adam was close to tears.

"Then come here," Lawrence says and beckons feebly with his arm. "Come here, and we'll… Sleep."

Adam doesn't even take his clothes off, that'd just make this even harder, and at this point, if he can't hide his face from Lawrence soon, he'll see him cry, and that'll just lead to drunken comfort, a bleak imitation of the one he's going to miss, and he can't stand that.

Lawrence just pulls his shirt over his head and huddles up under the covers. He always takes the side closest to the wall, he feels safer that way if he wakes up from whatever-that-is-that-terrifies-him, with the protection of the wall behind him and the simple safety of Adam in front of him. Adam doesn't take anything off, just crawls in there, Lawrence's arm coiling around his waist, and he struggles with the tears the entire time.

"I can't sleep without you here."

Those words, mumbled against Adam's ear, disturbing the fine strands of hair at the back of his neck. Lawrence won't remember saying them tomorrow, Adam isn't even sure he's aware of them now. It shouldn't hurt as damn much as it does.

Adam has to slap Lawrence away more than once during the night. Needy lips, open mouth, hands seeking out places where Adam only allowed them that one time that right now seems like one time too many. Has to tell Lawrence over and over that they're not doing this, it's over, it's too late. But even though it is, it doesn't feel like it.

It feels like there's still so much between them. So many things they never got to say, so many ways they never showed that they needed each other.

Adam's tired, but he barely sleeps at all that night. A good four hours later, he calls in sick from school, and when he turns to go back to bed, he sees that Lawrence's arm is still stretched over his side of the bed, and even in his sleep, there's a small wrinkle between his eyebrows from reaching out and not finding Adam there.


	28. Lie To Me

A/N: GOD, I leave you guys hanging a lot, don't I? I know, I suck. I've just tried to deal with school and life and… You know, being me. It's a lot of work. XD Either way, I have a chapter here, and unfortunately, what we've all been dreading is coming to a close. Lawrence is leaving. Let's all sit down and share a minute of silence. (Somber music in the background)

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**28: Lie To Me**

Adam's always been a procrastinator. When Lawrence told him about the scholarship, his first thought was that _yeah, well, we still have, like, ten months, _and he kept thinking that way for five of those months. Because they still had time. It was running low, but they had time. They always did.

During their first year, when Lawrence needed straight A's and needed every available second to either study or make sure that his siblings didn't get raped by his mom's johns, they still had time to hang out. That cold winter, when Daniel almost died, they had time to get him to the hospital.

They always have time. Adam and Lawrence have been broken down so many times that they've become immortal.

Only that their time is running out now. Adam doesn't care. Of course. He always stops caring when he feels himself caring too much.

"It's not like we can't stay in touch," Lawrence says, looking up from his history books and sounding like he's wanted to say this for the past hour. Adam nods and writes down the year of Napoleon's downfall.

"Right."

Lawrence keeps looking at him, he feels it. But he doesn't say anything, and after a few seconds, Adam hears the rasp of his pencil again.

"I mean, what else is there to do?" Lawrence says. "There aren't a lot of other options. Than to stay in touch, I mean. At least not to me."

Adam exhales slowly.

"Shut up, Lawrence."

Lawrence actually shuts up, that alone is a reason to be worried. But his pencil doesn't start rasping again.

"It's going to be ten times worse over there, Adam. What the hell am I supposed to do without you?"

"Lawrence, shut the fuck up."

He can only look at him for a second, even though he knows his words would have more power if he looked Lawrence in the eye. It just doesn't work. Lawrence doesn't give up, though.

"Adam. Please. At least let me tell you that I'm going to miss you."

"I don't want to hear it," Adam says, pleads. "So no. Just don't."

He doesn't want to hear it. He doesn't want Lawrence's love. He doesn't want anything that brings out that deep, sincere bitterness and that annoying little thought: _Well, you don't _have _to fucking leave, do you? _

Adam keeps writing things down. Neither of them say anything until Wendy comes home with Lou and Daniel, and Lou crawls up in Adam's lap and says that she learned to whistle today, and Adam smiles, laughs, doesn't look at Lawrence and is happy, happy, happy while a big, black hole of despair opens up in him.

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Once in their first year of high school, Adam and Lawrence was out on their walk. Adam had stolen a bottle of his father's ridiculously expensive beer, even though he'd personally prefer that three-bucks-a-can stuff he could buy at any convenience store, and they passed it between them as they walked through a playground near Adam's holy scrap yard. When Lawrence stopped by the swing set and sat down on one of them, Adam sat down next to him, without pointing out what a big kid he was. Lawrence was still the mature one of the two of them, and they both knew it, even then.

"It's still your life, man," Adam said, when their previous discussion had been still for a while. "That's my point. Your siblings need to be happy, I get that. But in the end, what the hell is your life worth if you live it for someone else? Isn't it time you do something that you want to do _for you?" _

Lawrence shrugged. Adam got the impression that he might've asked himself that question before, but he'd stopped doing that now. For Lou and Daniel's sake.

"Maybe. Yeah, maybe it is. It's just… I love them a little too much for that to be important. You know?"

Adam gave him a sideway glance. One that made it clear that no, he didn't know. He didn't know love like that, not yet.

"It's like… When someone means that much, your own well-being isn't very important," Lawrence went on. "It's that kind of love that's downright unhealthy. I'd probably feel better without it. I wouldn't have to study, and I wouldn't have to stay alive for them. But it's there, and there's nothing I can do about it."

Adam kept staring in front of himself a couple of seconds. He had no idea what to say to that.

"Chick flick moment, man," he muttered under his breath and put the bottle to his lips again.

Lawrence grinned.

When Adam remembers that evening later on, he walks out of the apartment, slams the door shut and doesn't come back for the rest of the night. He ignores Lawrence when he asks him about it the next day, still not ready to talk to him.

He always knew, on some level, that he isn't the most important thing in Lawrence's world. But it still hurts.

If the entire rest of the world went away, and Lawrence was still here, Adam would be fine. If Lawrence went away and everything else was normal, Adam's life would be over. And it hurts that in the end, even if he's what keeps Lawrence sane, he will never need Adam the way Adam needs him.

Like oxygen. Like a fucking heartbeat.

xxxxxxxxxxx

School ends. It felt like it never would, but it does.

Lawrence, of course, graduates with better grades than anyone in the entire grade. Adam gets his diploma thanks to a lot of sleepless nights during the last semester. He worked his ass off, and it paid off, and well, that's always nice.

He thought that Lawrence would get to be the graduation speaker, but he probably hung out too much with Adam for that. Instead, a tiny, brunette girl from Claire's class who looks like she's waited for this moment her entire life, stands up there on the podium.

"I know it doesn't feel like it now," she says, her voice trembling with excitement, "now when we're all heading off into an uncertain future… But it's my strong, genuine belief that everyone in this grade is going to achieve great things in life. I think you'll all have something to brag about in our reunion in twenty-five years."

Adam looks over at Claire, her blue eyes sparkling under the graduation hat. She grins at him and rolls her eyes, probably thinking that his dark look is annoyance over the incredibly cliché speech, rather than deep and sincere panic. Adam actually manages to smile back at her. She's beautiful. And he feels right then that he's her big brother, even though he's probably the most unfit person in the world to be just that.

Then Adam turns to Lawrence. He still hates him a little, but can't suppress a joyful spark inside when he sees Lawrence's face under that stupid graduation hat. Shining up like a kid on Christmas.

Lawrence has actually achieved everything he wanted when Adam first met him. That thought gives him a strong feeling, but he isn't sure what that feeling is.

Part of it is hopefulness. Part of it is fear. Lawrence has always had a desire, and even though that desire gave him a bleeding ulcer, at least he had something to fight for. Adam doesn't. He has no reason to move to Canada. And that thought scares him.

Lawrence looks at Adam right before it's time to throw their hats in the air. He smiles, Adam smiles back, there's a hint of fear in both their expressions. But they still cheer as the hats form black confetti in the sky.

Adam and Lawrence graduate on a sunny day at the beginning of June. And even though they both feel their time safe and together ticking away, that day is something they can both be proud of.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Lawrence's nightmares, or whatever the hell they are, that went away for a while, come back during the summer. Adam knows that this is when it would be healthy to pull away from him, but he can't. They're still tethered to each other, and he still sleeps cuddled up with Lawrence. No matter how hot it gets during the nights, skin on skin slick with sweat, just so he can be there and grab his flailing arms when Lawrence's screaming wakes him up.

He knows exactly why Lawrence is so scared now days. Hell, if he tried, he could probably figure out exactly what the nightmares are about. But what's the point. He won't be around long enough to do something about it, anyway.

One night, Lawrence has a dream that he's on the plane to Canada, and realizes that he accidentally packed one of Adam's favorite Oscar Wilde books. He runs up to the pilot and tells him that they have to go back, and as the plane is turned around, Lawrence looks out the windows and realizes that they're flying low enough for him to spot Adam's apartment when they get to it.

They fly past Adam's apartment building, and Lawrence somehow sees through the window that Adam isn't there. In dreams, planes can fly that slowly. He tells the pilot where to go; leads him to the holy scrap yard, to the school, to the places Adam likes to takes pictures of.

They go everywhere. But Adam's nowhere to be found.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Three years.

How could it be three years? Adam knows how long three years is.

Three years crawl by. Three years are a certain amount of nights when he'd do anything to be away from home, and most of them, he could, but sometimes, dad would think of a reason to keep him inside. He didn't even have to use violence for that one. The way he looked at Adam was enough.

Three years are a certain amount of days when he'd come home and pray that dad wasn't there. A certain amount of disgusted looks from his teachers.

How many days are there in three years? Adam silently tries to calculate that as he feels Lawrence's eyes on him. He usually doesn't like math, and truth be told, he sucks at it. But he'd count the dust grains on the floor if it meant he wouldn't have to think about Lawrence's bag, neatly packed next to their bed. So it'll be ready when he's leaving tomorrow.

He hoped that Lawrence would just give up and go already. But he just wouldn't be Lawrence if he gave up on anything.

"You all set?" he asks when he realizes that Lawrence won't move until Adam looks at him.

"Yeah," Lawrence says and rakes his fingers through his hair. "Or, I mean, I have to pack… My pajamas, and the kids' toothbrushes and stuff, but I'll do that tomorrow, before…"

His voice dies out. He knows that Adam doesn't listen, anyway.

"Adam," Lawrence says. "You're really not coming?"

There's something new, desperate, in his tone. Adam looks at him again.

"I have to… Develop some pictures," he says feebly. "They're due to the editors tomorrow, you know."

Lawrence looks him in the eye for a couple of seconds. That desperate thing is there, too. That thing that's made him almost manic about keeping Adam near him at all times for the past six months. But he looks away before long, and nods.

"Okay. So you're okay with me leaving them here?"

He jerks his head towards Lou and Daniel, slumped in a pile on the futon in front of the TV. Adam glances at them.

"Yeah, sure," he says. "You go out and have fun."

Lawrence nods again and picks up his jacket. Wendy stands up from her bed and follows him to the door. She's done a worse job pretending that she's fine about Lawrence leaving than Adam has. Sure, Adam hasn't been too subtle, either, but at least he doesn't lock himself in the bathroom crying every five minutes.

He hasn't even talked to her about whether or not she wants to still live here after Lawrence leaves. He already knows the answer. Adam hasn't been the best support for her during these weeks when her crying attacks have become more frequent, turns his gaze away when she walks out of the bathroom with her big eyes red and puffy. He doesn't know how to deal with her loss anymore than his own, and that's ruined whatever bond there was between them.

But it's still Wendy that's going to go out with Lawrence tonight, as a last goodbye before he leaves. And it's Adam that's been invited to join more than once, but still stays home with Lou and Daniel.

Lawrence opens the door, waves goodbye to the kids. His eyes lock with Adam's for a second, but there's no point. Still nothing to say.

Adam raises his hand in a feeble wave before the door closes. When it does, he has a relapse to his old ways, opens the window and chain smokes until Lou tells him that they need his help brushing their teeth.

He has no idea how many days there are in three years. But he knows that whatever little time with Lawrence he got, felt like a lot shorter.

When Lawrence leaves tomorrow, it'll be after way too little time. In order for them to be happy, the rest of their lives won't be enough.

After the kids have gone to bed, Adam sneaks down to the nearest convenience store and buys three six packs of beers. Then he sits with them in front of him for almost half an hour before he puts them in the fridge. He doesn't want to get drunk. It won't help with anything. Instead, he makes an entire pot of that stupid herbal tea that Lawrence claims helps him sleep, and drinks cup after cup while reading one of Daniel's Donald Duck magazines.

Adam has no idea what time it is when he hears a loud _thump _against the front door, quickly followed by a sound like someone drags a towel across it. He stands up and walks up to the door, and when he opens it, it takes him a couple of seconds before he sees Lawrence's worn down, smelly figure leaned against the wall in the hallway.

"Lawrence?" he asks, unnecessarily. Lawrence doesn't answer, and Adam looks around in the dark stairway. "Where's Wendy?"

"She… She dropped me off here," Lawrence says and waves his hand lazily. "She said we… We needed to talk. Alone."

Adam looks down at his friend, brother, lover, his whatever-he-is, and isn't sure what to do. He never is with Lawrence. In the meantime as he's the one person on the planet that he feels he doesn't have to try so hard with.

So in lack of better solutions, he grabs Lawrence's arm, drags him to his feet and into the apartment. He hopes to God that Wendy's more sober than Lawrence, otherwise she's going to wake up in a ditch somewhere. Lawrence is usually a happy drunk, but this seems to be past his limit. No one can be happy when being… _This _drunk.

There's nothing to say, and Adam doesn't want to talk. So he sits Lawrence down on the bed and takes off his shoes. He strips of his clothes, he gets him water and tilts his head back when he doesn't seem to be able to open his mouth on his own.

Adam takes care of Lawrence, because this is his last chance to do so. He strokes his hair out of his eyes when he vomits in the bucket Adam's gotten him. He caresses Lawrence's pale cheek when he collapses on the mattress, and he listens to the words he mumbles, leaving his lips half-formed.

"Leaving… I'm leaving… Adam…"

And Adam doesn't answer. Because just like Lawrence, he doesn't have the right words to describe how that makes him feel.

Lawrence had to get drunk to find them. Adam tries his best to express them through touch.

The time is getting close to five AM when Lawrence speaks up for the first time. He's been mumbling incoherently the whole night, but he's been quiet for so long now that Adam almost thought he'd fallen asleep, and now, his voice is frail, hoarse, but clear.

"Adam," Lawrence says, and Adam turns around where he's sitting next to the mattress. "I'm leaving tomorrow."

Adam nods.

"I know."

Lawrence looks at him. The pale morning light makes his blue eyes almost unnaturally pale.

"I'm going to a fancy college in Canada," he goes on. "I'm getting out of this place."

Adam nods again.

"Yeah. Just like you always wanted."

Lawrence's seems to flinch at those words, his hands tremble where they're cradled on the pillow next to his head.

"I don't want to go."

His entire face retracts, mouth trembling like on a baby, and that's all Adam manages to see before Lawrence covers his face with his hands but can't hold back the thin, hollow shriek.

Adam scoots off the floor and sits next to Lawrence on the bed, and Lawrence has already balled up in fetal position. Adam pulls him into his arms, tries to rock him gently, breathe warmly into his hair in that way can calm Lawrence down in the worst of times, but the shell of horror around Lawrence is impenetrable, Adam can't reach him, can't get through to him and tell him that he knows, he knows that Lawrence doesn't want to go.

He can't do a damn thing. All he can do is hold Lawrence, trembling, hyperventilating, barely with any breath in his lungs but still manages to repeat that one thing, over and over.

"I don't want to go I don't want to go I don't want to go-ho-ho-ho-ho…"

It fades out into incoherent sobs, and Adam holds Lawrence tighter. He won't try to talk to him right now, there wouldn't be a point. But of course Lawrence is scared. He's leaving tomorrow. Even Adam thinks that's terrifying, and he's still staying in the same life he's lived for the past year and a half. He doesn't leave everything behind, and no matter how much it sucks, he knows that in this case, it's easier to be left than to leave.

Lawrence is leaving for his future. He leaves something he knows is good for something that can be amazing. It's something that can be everything he ever dreamed of those mornings when he woke up to the sound of Lou crying.

But the future can also be what it is right now. The future can be drunken, cold, and heavy with the sour smell of Lawrence's vomit.

Adam is every bit as scared as Lawrence is that night. He keeps it inside, thinks that one of them should stay sane right now, but in reality, it's now that he realizes that he's stepping into the future, that thing that thrilled him until he met Lawrence, but that he then started hating for its uncertainty.

It's a night of transition, and Adam wishes they could skip the transition and just be in the future without having to step into it. It'd be easier if it were all already dealt with than something they were in right now.

It's all now. The darkness is now, the fear is now, the future is now and the horrible, horrible, expecting life is now.


	29. Did You Love Me Forever?

A/N: There really should be some kind of sacred ChainShipping-code that does not tolerate bitches ending with a sweet, emotional moment and then not updating for two months, shouldn't there? XD I'm really sorry. Christmas, real life and school can be a bitch sometimes. You didn't leave my mind once, though. ^^

Also: I got an anonymous review on this story a couple of days ago. And to the person reviewing: I assume you're not really checking up on this thing, since you didn't seem to like it much, but I couldn't find out another way to reply to you. And to answer your question about why people keep writing gay stories about Adam and Lawrence is pretty simple: A lot of people see a pairing between them when they watch the movie. I can't speak for everyone, but I know that the very first time I saw the movie, during that final scene between them in the bathroom, when they're clinging to each other and Adam literally begs Lawrence not to go, I sat up and told the guy I watched it with that I was going to write a story about those two. (Which later on turned out not to be the best idea. Apparently, thinking of different guys than the one you're cuddled up with when you're watching the movie is a bit of a turnoff… XD) Because they're both showing such a vulnerable side with each other right there, and they haven't done that before in the movie. Plus, they went through hell and back together in the bathroom, so it's very hard to imagine that they wouldn't have a connection when they got back out. Don't worry, though. There are a million "Adam surviving"-stories out there, you just have to dig through a thick layer of ChainShipping to find them. ;)

**29: Did You Love Me Forever? **

Lawrence has absolutely no recollection of falling asleep that night. Knowing him, it probably happened the exact second he thought that he might as well pull an all-nighter, since he was getting up in two hours, anyway. But either way, the alarm goes off at eight AM, and when he opens his eyes, it's like he hadn't slept at all.

But he must've, because his last memory is Adam sitting next to him on the bed, holding him steady in his little breakdown. And now, Adam isn't here anymore.

Lawrence knows he's on a tight schedule. He's gone over this day in his head pretty much every available second this week, he's calculated and shortened down and cut his time up in smaller and smaller pieces until he's worried it's going to stop existing all together. He knows he has to get up and make breakfast this exact minute if he's going to keep his schedule, and he does, after a too-long delay. But he keeps looking around the apartment, out the window, because Adam can be in the bathroom, he could've gone out shopping for coffee if they were out of it. He can still come back and say goodbye, and if so, Lawrence is going to wait for him. Only he knows that isn't the case. Adam's taken off, and he's not coming back until he's sure that Lawrence is gone.

Eventually, he wakes Lou and Daniel up and gives them their sandwiches. He doesn't have time for this nonsense. He's going to college. He has luggage he has to double check.

And since Adam removed the bucket that stood by his bedside last night before he left, he doesn't have to acknowledge how that really makes him feel.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Adam lets his legs spread wide as he sits down on a bench a couple of blocks from home. His stomach is rumbling, he didn't dare to get breakfast before he took off. This is the time of day where most dog owners go on their first walk, and the dew is just starting to fade from the leaves. He tries to appreciate that the way he used to as he rakes his hand through his hair, trying to come alive.

Back in the days, Adam would sneak out of his fancy house hours before everyone else woke up. He needed time if he wanted to get to the parts of town he preferred to see them come to life in the morning. Those neighborhoods that were beautiful for _real,_ with frost-covered beer bottles lined up on the window sills in the winter, and when it had rained, brown, dirty water was running along the gutters, getting slurped down to the sewers. Not flowerbeds and matching curtains.

Adam hasn't done that since he met Lawrence. His need for broken, beautiful things were pretty much fulfilled from that day on.

He's not going to see Lawrence off at the airport. Wendy can do that. She's the one who's okay with the whole thing, and maybe it's just Adam being selfish, but he is not ever going to pretend to be fine with Lawrence leaving. He doesn't care if Lawrence never gets anywhere in life, if none of his dreams come true, as long as he's within the country borders. That makes him a much worse friend than Lawrence deserves, and he doesn't care. Lawrence always had too high thoughts of him anyway.

Adam lights a cigarette and watches the people walking their dogs. Next to him, there's a house with a barred window that someone's smashed, and then tied a bright red scarf around one of the bars, like some kind of trademark. He wishes he had his camera with him.

Maybe it's the thought of beauty and dirt that gives him the association, but he can't help but remember one night he spent with Lawrence. It must've been sometime during their second year, when they were just starting to be friends again after that fatal night when the lines were blurred. They'd been sitting on Adam's bed, Lawrence had been tired and ruffled, and Adam had been happy, despite the fact that his father was coming home tomorrow.

He'd had the bed filled with books, he'd started reading quotes from them to Lawrence an hour before and hadn't stopped even though he could tell that Lawrence was getting bored, because this was a part of him, and he wanted Lawrence to know him, every boring, geeky, annoyingly cuddly part of him.

"Oh, listen to this," Adam said and slapped Lawrence's knee, making him lift his head. "This is so you, man. 'The real tragedy of the poor is that they can afford nothing but self-denial. Beautiful sins, like beautiful things, are a privilege of the rich.'"

Lawrence chuckled and sat up. He looked down into the book over Adam's shoulder, all warm and close.

"Wilde did get that one right," he said and took a closer look at the pages. "But why the hell have you underlined certain paragraphs?"

Adam looked from the pages, where he had indeed marked the lines he liked the most with a ballpoint pen, and shrugged.

"They're the parts I like the most. And I'm not counting on giving this thing to anyone else anytime soon, so it won't bother anyone."

Lawrence furrowed his brows, like he tried to figure out just how Adam was thinking, saying such stupid things. They were the exact opposite on that point. Lawrence wouldn't even mark important paragraphs in their school books. He wanted things clean and untouched.

"It's more _my_ book if it's me fucking it up, you know?" Adam tried to explain, careful not to turn to Lawrence. His face was inches away.

Lawrence shook his head, breaking the spell, like Adam's idiocy was too much for him to bear, and laid back down on the bed. Adam grinned at his ignorance and crossed his legs beneath him. He loved it when Lawrence didn't see how much Adam loved him. Then he could almost show him affection without Lawrence noticing.

"'You will always be fond of me,'" he went on quoting, smiling wider now. "'I represent to you all the sins you have never had the courage to commit.'"

Lawrence pretended to give him an angry glare. His gaze probably flickered across Adam's lips before he sat back up, but if it did, there was no reason to get hung up on it; it was one of many times.

As Adam thinks back on that night now, when his cigarette is slowly falling to ashes between his fingers, he thinks that he was prepared for this. Even then, he was prepared for this. He always knew Lawrence was going to leave, even before he got the scholarship. He just didn't dare to think it, because if he did, it'd be just like him to make the conclusion that what they had, whatever it was, hadn't been enough for Lawrence. That he was just a little represent of sins to him. The devil on his shoulder, just needed so the angel would have something to get evened out with.

He's made his peace with the fact that he wasn't enough for Lawrence. But if he even grazes the thought that he didn't mean anything at all, he won't stand it.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Lawrence gets a big, unexplainable lump in his stomach when he walks out the door to the apartment for the last time. He gets one of those weird series of flashes, like people get when they die, his entire life in this apartment gets played out before him, and he has to lock the door before he gets caught up in it. They have exactly thirty-eight minutes to go find Wendy, and even though he's calculated the time to get to the center of Bronx about an hour and a half when it actually takes half of that time, his head is going to explode if he breaks his schedule.

"Everyone's with me?" Lawrence says and pretends to check if both Lou and Daniel are there. "Did I leave anyone in the desk drawer?" They giggle, even though they're tired. "You both have everything packed, right?"

"You've asked us that a million times, Lawrence," Lou moans, making a big show out of rolling her eyes and dropping her head. "Can't we just go? What if we miss the plane?"

"We won't," Lawrence says and locks the door. "We're taking a bus that goes straight to the airport. It's specially designed for us poor people."

"But what about Adam?" Daniel asks gently as they walk down the stairs. "Isn't he going with us?"

Lawrence pretends that this is a question just like anyone else as they step out onto the sidewalk.

"We've been over this," he says. "Adam's staying here. My school doesn't want him, and he doesn't want it."

They don't say anything for another couple of minutes. When Lawrence gets to their scrap yard, where he finds Wendy, it feels good to have an excuse to let the tears flow freely.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Adam looks at his watch. Lawrence's train doesn't leave for another eight hours, but knowing him, he's probably left to go there already. It takes some time to go to LaGuardia, especially with two little kids. Even if he wanted to mend fences with him, it's too late now. And either way, what's the point? No matter what he does now, it won't change what's going to happen. Neither will it make him more sure about what exactly that is. No matter what happens in the future, he's pretty sure he's going to hate it immensely.

_But what's already happened was good, wasn't it? _some little voice in the back of his head says. _You can bitch and moan about it all you want, but truth is, you don't regret a thing. Not kissing him, or having sex with him. You just wish you could've had more of it. _

Adam sighs to himself and lights up another one. He's broken his cigarette budget for this month already, but he doesn't really care. Living in the apartment is going to be cheaper now, anyway. And no one's going to complain about giving him lung cancer. He's going to be on his own, not having anything to worry about but himself and his own stupidity.

Oscar Wilde could've written a book about Adam and Lawrence. He always did have a thing for love that was nothing and everything at the same time, like that scarf tied around the bar, like the way Adam feels when Lawrence crawls down in bed next to him every night, no matter how pissed they are at each other.

In his books, lovers always die. Adam never got the reason for that until now.

_The loves and sorrows that are great are destroyed by their own plentitude. _

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Lawrence almost breaks down completely when he tries to figure out which entrance they're supposed to go to at the airport. They all seem to look the same to him, but his ticket specifically tells him to go to terminal B, and truth is, he'd much rather focus on that than everything else that's going on in his head right now.

He's already said a heart-wrenching goodbye to Wendy. As he sat down on the bus to the airport, it felt like there was nothing left in him. But as he actually finds their terminal, he realizes just how much of himself he leaves behind.

The check-in is right in front of them as they go through the gates to the airport. Lawrence is fighting every nature he has by not going straight up to it, check in their luggage and then show their tickets to the flight attendant-guy on the other end of the long line next to the check-in. It's all right there in front of him. He should go right now.

"Lawrence?" Lou asks and looks up at him. "Aren't we going?"

Lawrence sighs. Looks at the clock on the opposite wall. He should go. He really should.

"The plane doesn't leave for another couple of hours," he says, hearing the words like they're from someone else. "We don't have to check in yet. There's no real difference of waiting out here than in there, right?"

Lou keeps looking at him. Cocking her head to the side, and for a brief second, it feels like she sees right through him.

"Okay," she then says. "Can I sit down and practice my reading?"

She beckons to the chairs in front of the huge window out to the parking lot. Lawrence nods.

"Sure. I'll come sit with you after I've dropped off our bags."

She and Daniel go to sit down. Lawrence doesn't have to struggle against that cold knot in his stomach for another hour or so. Now, he can settle for laying back and letting it take over.

Meanwhile, Adam steps into a cab about an hour away. He thinks his voice sounds normal when he tells the driver to go to LaGuardia, but his hands shake to an annoying amount as he reaches into his pocket to make sure his credit card is there. As they start driving, he has a moment where he realizes just how stupid it is to spend the majority of this month's paycheck on going to an airport to say one final thing to someone who he knows isn't going to stay anyway, but he's more than happy to do it, and wow, isn't that sad?

Out of reflex, he takes his Walkman out of his pocket. The songs he listens to within the following hour will forever be associated with nausea, sweaty hands and the feeling that his feet are so restless that he'd gladly jump out right now and run the remaining miles to the airport, and when Adam finally gets there, his voice is unnaturally graveled already when he tells the cabbie that he's going to pay with his card. Fuck. He wasn't going to do this.

Adam practically runs to the nearest entrance to the building. He has no idea where Lawrence is in this enormous maze of white, slick-shiny floor and big, black signs with departure times, and he likes to think that he'll search the whole damn building if he has to, and Adam does his best to ignore the fact that that might not be possible as he rushes up to the nearest desk labeled "Information."

"Excuse me," he says to the pretty brunette behind the counter. "Where do I go to check in to the 6:10 flight to Toronto?"

"That's through terminal B," she says kindly. "You can get there by walkway or bus."

"Where do the buses leave from?" Adam asks, feeling his heart sink slightly in his chest.

"Right out front. The next one leaves in ten minutes."

Adam nods and rushes back out the door. This'll be fine. Lawrence's plane doesn't leave for hours. It's just that teeny tiny thought, a mean little whisper in the back of his head.

Adam hasn't been on a plane in about five years. The second he was old enough to be home alone when his family went out of town, he did. He doesn't remember how this stuff works. But he's fairly sure that once Lawrence has checked in and gone to his gate, Adam won't be able to get to him without a ticket. And Lawrence is the way he is. Of course he's checked in at this point.

Adam's just going to have to hope that the devil on his shoulder has taught him something in the past three years.

He jumps on the bus outside the gates. Tries not to look at the time too much. It doesn't make a difference if he's actually aware of how much time with him he's lost or not. It's gone now. That's what he needs to focus on. It's all over.

But just like it tends to be with Adam and Lawrence, that's no reason to give up.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

He knew. That's Lawrence's first thought when he sees Adam run through the gates, sweaty and out of breath, because he still refuses to stop smoking, the stupid little punk, when the tears spring out and he has to stand up to meet him, drop his bags and run through an ocean of stressed passengers to get to his best friend.

Lawrence knew. He didn't check in right away because he knew that Adam would come for him. That's just who he is, he's stupid as _fuck _and he still always manages to come through for the ones he loves, and Lawrence loves that, he loves every stupid little part of Adam.

A smile ghosts over Adam's face even though he's panting, and that's all Lawrence sees before they join in a hug that's almost violent. He's engulfed in the smell of sweat and leather and cigarettes, and realizes that he's crying, but also that he has absolutely no interest in stopping.

Adam seems a little disturbed by it, though. Maybe he imagined this as a happy reunion, even though Lawrence feels every little pain that he tried to lock up in his Pandora's box inside is now breaking free; the fear, the uncertainty, and just the fact that Adam won't be with him through this.

"Come on, man…" Adam mumbles against Lawrence's shoulder. "You didn't really think I wouldn't say goodbye, did you? I was just being stupid, you know how I… Fuck, Lawrence, just _calm down…"_

Lawrence nods as they break free. Tries to put a lid on it, think that Adam shouldn't have to feel like the last thing they do together is him taking care of Lawrence as usual. He's just so scared. And the sight of Adam's face isn't helping.

"Listen…" Adam says, putting a coy hand behind Lawrence's neck. "I know it's scary. It's scary as fuck. I think so, too, and I'm staying within the country borders, okay? It's just… It's what you have to do. Right?"

Lawrence nods again. Tears hot and stinging, he puts a hand over his mouth.

"How can you be so calm?" he mutters, rubbing the heel of his palm against his eye. Adam smiles, either bitterly or sadly.

"One of us should be."

Lawrence tries to take a breath. It's more of a quivering sob than anything else.

It shouldn't be possible for something to hurt this much. It's not fair that he has to be punished for having what they have.

"Plus…" Adam says, shoving his hands down his pockets, like this is an everyday situation. "I'd say that even though we… Put a lot of things aside, things that maybe… We would've been better off letting out into the open… They weren't completely wasted high school years, were they?"

Lawrence shakes his head violently, taking a step closer.

"Not one bit." Stay with me. Please stay with me.

Adam smiles that way again. Another pain breaking free.

"Adam, I… I'm sorry I… You know."

"Don't be sorry. Don't."

Adam swallows. Lawrence tries to think that it's good that he's not breaking down.

"You were… The only thing I really did right. You… You know?"

Lawrence nods.

"Yeah. Thank you."

Another nod. Adam has to close his eyes when he sees the look on Lawrence's face. Like something that he spent three years trying to build up in there is being brutally butchered.

Then Lawrence leans forward and kisses him gently, and Adam parts his lips, placing a hand on the back of his neck out of reflex. He knows it's stupid, and it's not going to make this one damn bit easier. But he prefers to think that he's taking something that is his, one last time, and then never again.

When they break apart, Lawrence keeps one hand on Adam's cheek. Their foreheads touching, sweat-slicked, ruffled bangs against neatly combed.

"I love you," Lawrence says.

Adam stands up on his toes and hugs Lawrence tight. Tries to print it permanently into his memory, the warmth, even the soul-crushing despair.

"You really should go to your gate now," he mumbles against Lawrence's ear. "Or I'll tie you to a trashcan and keep you here."

Lawrence nods and lets Adam go. He keeps his eyes on him as he beckons for the kids to get over there, squeezes his hand one last time before he walks towards the check-in. He'd look over his shoulder as he left him, but one last look won't make this easier in any way. Adam waves goodbye to them as they go to stand in the line, and Lou and Daniel would go hug him, but they see right away that it's not a good time for that. Adam's head is filled with Lawrence right now, he wouldn't even notice that they were there.

Lawrence checks in. He takes Lou and Daniel to their gate, sits there for about two hours until it's time for boarding. Just as he's about to calm down, he sees a kid with a Sex Pistols-patch on his jacket going onto the plane with him, and then he cries silently all the way to the Canadian border.

Adam thinks he manages to stay somewhat calm. At least he can walk on wobbly knees over to the chairs where Lawrence sat with Lou and Daniel earlier. He also thinks he manages to stay somewhat quiet as he hoists his knees up and buries his face in them, until a security guard taps him on the shoulder and tells him that if he doesn't stop screaming, they're going to have to escort him out of here.

Adam squeezes his lips shut. It feels very important that they don't force him to go home.

He just sits there in spasmodic trembles with his knees pressed against his chest for another hour or so, because he can't cry, because he's too afraid, and he can't go home, because he doesn't have any money, and right now, he's not sure he has a home, either.

He knows what it feels like to go home to a place where no one wants you. He liked to believe that he wouldn't have to do that anymore.

Eventually, he trusts his legs to stand up. He digs some bills out of the pockets of his jacket and starts walking towards the bus stop. He's going to go home, but only in a lack of better words, and because he wants some closure, wants to leave this airport and declare it the end, the end of whatever they had, and this stupid fucking childhood that never turned out the way it should've.


	30. Dear Adam

A/N: Yup, we've got a new chapter, and if you think this is going to be a break from the angst-fest of the last chapter, you are WAY off. I know, I'm terrible. Just remember that this is all for… The greater good. I think. Because these two are so cute when they're suffering. ^^ And it got kind of awkward with Adam and Lawrence writing Emails to each other, since websites don't show up in documents, but I think I pulled it off.

**30: Dear Adam**

_Dear Adam, _

_So, turns out, I'm in Canada. You'd love it here. Nah, probably not. You'd hate it, in fact. I've seen the school now, the whole premise looks like your old house, only ten times bigger. I'm not going to stay there, though. That's the place where the bigshots make decisions about us youngsters, what we should learn and where. They showed us the College on the first day, but we didn't even get to see the inside of the house when the teacher touring us showed us where we were subscribed, they just let us gawk at it through the fence around it. Then I went back to my fraternity apartment and bawled my eyes out. I felt so alone, you can't believe it. I almost wished some annoying punk would come up to me and pick a fight, so I'd get sent back home. _

_You might like my apartment, though. It looks like your new apartment, except for... Ten times smaller. There's basically room for the bed that comes with the apartment, the desk that comes with the apartment, and the mattress that I actually had to buy, lord forbid. Lou and Daniel share it, she's already complaining about it. Other than that, not much. It was probably a good thing you couldn't come with me, we wouldn't have anywhere to fit you. (And don't you dare get any ideas about sharing beds with me, hint hint) But I want you here anyway. _

_I hope it's okay back home. I hope you make rent. I hope you still have your job and that you and Wendy can still be friends. Tell her I said hi. But what I really want is for you to be here with me. Just so you know. I know you won't let me say that when we're face to face, so I'm saying it this way, instead. I cried all the way to Toronto because I couldn't help but imagine what it'd be like there without you. As it turns out, though, it's ten times worse. _

_Miss you,  
Lawrence_

_PS: The school's given me a computer. I know you don't have one, but if we could send Emails to each other, they'd get through a lot faster. If you can borrow one at a library or something nearby, let me know. My address is lawrenceg at hotmail dot com. _

_Aug 26 1996 23:18:34  
From: Adam Faulkner  
To: Lawrence Gordon  
Re: Just trying this email thing out… _

_Hey man (I'm not writing anything close to "dear," but I think you knew that) _

_Ugh, no, that place doesn't really sound like anything for me. I'm all set over here with my camera and… Empty apartment. Yeah, Wendy moved out. We didn't really work that well together towards the end, maybe you noticed. She was a bit too messed up about you leaving. I guess I was, too, but unlike her, I sort of took it out on her. I'm probably not the right person to be around when your best friend just moved to Canada. _

_But either way, at least I can have all the beers to myself now. And I don't have to watch those stupid shows that the kids insisted on turning on while you were trying to study. And more importantly, I can sleep without some whiny little bastard tossing and turning next to me in the middle of the night. _

_Sarcasm doesn't really come through in writing, does it? Sorry, I'll drop it. You said you missed me, I can only hope that that means you also miss me being stupid. _

_Is it going better at that place now? And are the nightmares bearable? Don't let the panic get you down, Lawrence. I know it's easier said than done, but seriously, you worked so hard to go there. To get away from all this shit. Don't bring it over to Canada. Leave it here, I'll store it for you. Leave your panic anxiety with Adam, he'll make sure it's as good as new when you get back from your stupid college, all ready to be used again. (Sounds like a business plan, doesn't it? I'll make sure to remember that if the photo thing doesn't work out…) _

_Everything's sort of as usual back here. I actually went out for coffee with Claire yesterday. It was kind of cool, considering the fact that such healthy behavior should've made my head explode. _

_Don't be that way, Lawrence. It's hard enough as it is for me to have you all the way over there. Just know that if it gets too hard, if you want to call in the middle of… Whenever the hell it's nighttime over there, send a panicky email, get back over here, whatever… I'm here. It'll be like you never left. But try not to lose it. _

_Also, not to sound insensitive or anything… But when are you coming back? _

_Wrong thing to ask? Fine, fine. _

_Keep it together.  
Adam _

xxxxxxxxxxxx

_Jan 10 1997 21:42:02  
From: Lawrence Gordon  
To: Adam Faulkner  
Re: Just trying this email thing out… _

_Guess what? I got to dissect a corpse today. And I was a hundred percent cool with it, not a single nerve acting up. Nah, just kidding. But I thought I'd be more nervous than I was. I won't be dealing with a lot of dead people once I make it to intern, though. Unless I make a mistake, knock on wood, then I'm going to have to wheel that mistake down to the morgue. Hopefully, people breathing are less terrifying than the ones I had to deal with today. _

_I really wish I could've visited you over Christmas. Or that you could give up on your self-respect for just a week or something and stolen some money from your parents, so you could come here. Lou's missing you like crazy. Daniel is getting kind of gloomy, but I don't think he can really put why into words. He still hasn't accepted that he won't see you until we go back to the US. To be honest, I'm just starting to get used to the idea…_

_Thanks for the Christmas card, though! You won't believe how happy it made me. Even though I look horrible in that picture. That's, like, the only picture we have of the two of us together, isn't it? Honestly, Adam, why you spend so much time behind the camera and putting me in front of it, I'll never know. Lord knows you're the prettier one of the two of us. _

_Aw, sucks to hear that you didn't get that job. You'll get more chances, though, you're so talented. And I know you want to develop and all that (even though you wouldn't admit it to save your life) but just try to focus on the fact that you actually have enough to live on your own. Back when I just met you, you would've gladly turned tricks to make that dream come true, remember? _

_It shouldn't be humanly possible to miss someone as much as I miss you right now, but if I work hard on it, I promise that my missing can overcome the laws of physics. Then I'm going to have proved scientists everywhere wrong, and I won't need that stupid diploma, so… That's what I'm going for. Sounds like a plan. _

_Jan 11 1997 12:13:57  
From: Adam Faulkner  
To: Lawrence Gordon  
Re: Just trying this email thing out… _

_Honestly, Lawrence, I haven't seen you in five months, and you open an email with that? Ugh. The fact that I didn't come with you there seems like a better and better idea… But anyways, good that you kept it together. I didn't think you'd lose it. In fact, despite all the times I watched you break down because you got a C on an assignment, I didn't doubt for a second that you'd be able to maintain a stone face while carving up a dead guy. (Whether that's a good or bad thing, I leave up to your judgment.) _

_I wish I could've seen you, too. But awesome that you liked the card. I thought about using one I took of you when you'd passed out on the boardwalk after I'd gotten you plastered on tequila, but I'm saving that to leak to the press when you're a big-shot surgeon. Thanks a lot for your card, late as it was. I'm going to hide it somewhere so people coming over don't see how soft I get inside by looking at it. _

_Yeah, I'm trying to stay positive. It tortures me inside, but still. I just wish more people would acknowledge me, you know? But you're right. I got to where I wanted. Now we just have to make sure that you get there, too, because there's no way I'm letting you be my housewife when you get back here. _

_I actually called mom yesterday, believe it or not. Even weirder, she actually sounded happy. She said that dad leaves for a business trip in a week, then I can come over for dinner if I want. She tried to mention my name about a month after I left, and he said that she was breaking up the family, and just to be clear with what he meant, he spent the rest of the night eye-fucking Mary. _

_Pfff. My missing would kick your missing's ass. You just wait. _

_xxxxxxxxxxx_

_Nov 29 1998 22:41:09  
From: Lawrence Gordon  
To: Adam Faulkner  
Re: Just trying this email thing out… _

_Hey, Adam, I'm really sorry it took me so long to get back to you. School's been bending me backwards lately. I'd probably break down into a fit of tears in a corner if that didn't mean that I'd miss a bunch of valuable studying time. But it doesn't do very good with the nightmares or whatever the hell they are. Don't worry about me, though. It's only two and a half years left. _

_I'm currently working on a paper on a paper on what abnormal cell division does for your psyche. And yes, I know you think everything I do here is boring, but trust me, you'd love this. It's something that Wilde would knock himself out for. (If he hadn't been dead, and in when he was alive, busy drinking and having sex with everything that moved.) Lou is just starting to get that school with other kids is very different from studying at home with me, and I'm not sure how well she handles it. Her teacher called me a while back to talk about how she'd given a kid a bloody nose for calling her white trash. That made me think of you. _

_Daniel handles it better. He doesn't even try to socialize with the other kids, he just studies. Hard. Sometimes I get worried, but I think he's going to be fine. As long as he doesn't turn out like me. _

_How's the new place working out? And you're sure you're going to make ends meet? From what I've heard about New York (not that it's much) people there work, like, six days a week to make due, the apartments there are so expensive. Don't burn yourself out. I know snapping pictures doesn't take a lot out of you, and that you really love doing it, but you know… It's enough with one of us on the edge of burning out. _

_Dec 1 1998 17:29:38  
From: Adam Faulkner  
To: Lawrence Gordon  
Re: Just trying this email thing out… _

_Man, I've told you a million times to see the school shrink. You have one at the premises, GO THERE. I'm not trying to push you onto someone else or anything, I just think you need more help than I can provide over email. I can't do much but… Virtual-sleep-soothing. That's what I'm doing right now. I'm sleeping next to you, waking you up from the nightmares, via email. Can you feel it? I think I do it pretty well. _

_I know this makes me a horrible role model, but I laughed out loud when I read what Lou had done. Seriously, tell her to keep it up. Yes, there are "more constructive" ways to solve it when someone's being an asshole, but she should never let anyone push her down like that, ever. It's Daniel I'm concerned about. If he starts crying when he gets a B on a test and tossing and turning at night, be sure to take his books away, 'kay? _

_New York is awesome. You should've seen me when I first came here, I acted like one of those country side girls that see the big city for the first time, standing in the middle of the sidewalk and gawking at everything. "Oh lordy, they really have buildings as tall as the sky!" And then some grumpy Wall Street-dude pushes me off because I'm standing in his way. _

_It is true what they say, though. Now that I'm here, I wouldn't leave this city for the life of me, but the apartment I'm renting is about the size of a shoe box, and I still need to work my ass off to make rent. It's not that hard, though. I get to do something I love, and if you go to the right, artsy-fartsy parts of town, being a photographer suddenly goes from white trash-work to something deeply respected. And the fact that I'm a young, pale man with a leather jacket and dark circles under my eyes apparently only adds to it. Who knew that that would come handy one day? _

_I don't care if you're writing an essay on how to get better at gay sex; unless you want me to come up there and tell everyone that your best friend is a punk photographer who doesn't eat vegetables every day and has no idea how to do an appendectomy, (which I can only assume is the most shameful thing imaginable in those circles) you're going to have to write more often. New York is awesome, but you'd like it here, too. I got a king-sized mattress, you know. _

_xxxxxxxxxxx_

_Oct 20 1999 04:07:31  
From: Lawrence Gordon  
To: Adam Faulkner  
Re: Just trying this email thing out… _

_Hey, Adam. Now it took me forever again, I'm sorry. How are things? _

_I only have two years left in this place. I can't believe I've made it this far. Or, I barely have, I sure as hell wouldn't have if it weren't for Dr. Brown. (And the pills he prescribed, of course…) But once I'm finished here, I can go to med school in America. I've already looked it up. _

_It's great to hear that that magazine wanted you! I wish I knew more about what your pictures looked like now days, I can only assume you've developed tremendously. Can't you send me some of them? _

_Lou says hi, by the way. And she said that uppercut-move you showed her came handy last week. I'm going to pretend I don't get what that means… _

_Oct 25 1999 22:31:48  
From: Adam Faulkner  
To: Lawrence Gordon  
Re: Just trying this email thing out… _

_Well, well, well. Look what we have here. Dr. Lawrence Gordon is still alive. He hasn't died from some weird infection from a corpse he dissected on a quest to save a tribe of cannibals in Papua New Guinea. Then I can only assume that he's writing a paper on how to cure said disease? No? Then I'm blank. _

_Things are good here. I'm starting to settle in with the staff at the magazine, but you should've seen me the first couple of days. I walked around with such a deer-in-headlights-look that I seriously thought I'd get stuck like that. But they like me now. I think the women at the office are just happy to have a man there that's below fifty and doesn't have a beer gut… _

_You better get your ass over to this side of the border the second you're done over there. Canada hasn't started growing on you, has it? You don't want to stay over there with their moose and beavers (no pun intended) and hockey? Come ooon. I know how much you miss the unhealthy food and lack of jobs and presidents that bang their secretaries. And me, of course. _

_Aw, Lou's growing up to be a… New me. That's not good. Tell her to knock it off. Then again, if the only option is to be a new you… Damn, that girl needs more male role models in her life. _

_I went back to our old neighborhoods yesterday, by the way. I saw that store where we could get beer without getting IDd. I considered going in there, but decided not to… I don't think they've forgotten that time we went there and I drunkenly pointed to their door and yelled that they were breaking the law giving us alcohol, and you had to drag me away. _

_xxxxxxxxxxx_

_Apr 5 2000 15:49:15  
From: Adam Faulkner  
To: Lawrence Gordon  
Re: Just trying this email thing out… _

_Dude, seriously. If you don't answer my email soon, I'm going to have to spend a lot of money on a plane ticket and a steak knife just to go over there and cut you. And that seems like a waste of time. _

_xxxxxxxxxxx_

_Apr 21 2000 18:17:42  
From: Adam Faulkner  
To: Lawrence Gordon  
Re: ! _

_LAWRENCE. _

_xxxxxxxxxxx_

_Jun 8 2000 17:54:27  
From: Adam Faulkner  
To: Lawrence Gordon  
Re: ! _

_At least let me know you're alive. You know this was exactly I was scared would happen when you moved. _


	31. Forgotten

Yup, I'm back from the dead. Man, I've missed this fic… So, we left the boys at the end of the rope, didn't we? Let's see where that's led them… (Cue intro music)

**31: Forgotten**

"Dr. Gordon, wake up. We've got a car crash down on second."

Lawrence groans and rolls over in bed. His limbs are awake before he is, tumbling him out of bed and out the door to the on-call room before his head has even stopped spinning.

The night shifts have never been a problem to him. His sleeping schedule hasn't been healthy once in his life, and now days, he sees no reason to fix it. Why should he sleep like a normal person if sleeping in twenty-minute stages earns him twenty percent more on his paycheck?

"Brief me," he orders the intern that woke him up as they're striding through the halls of the hospital. She's small, basically running to keep up with him.

"She's twenty-six," she says as they round the corner and starts walking down the stairs. "Six months pregnant, lost a lot of blood. Her left leg was pinned under the car for half an hour before the ambulance got there, it's so badly damaged that you might have to amputate."

Lawrence shakes his head as he walks into the prep room to the OR.

"No amputating here," he mutters under his breath as he walks up to the sink and starts scrubbing his hands.

He sees the patient through the window of the operating room. He wishes this was one of those surgeries when he wouldn't have to see her face, when they could set up a screen to hide it or he could just avoid looking at it. That makes everything so much easier, but he knows he's going to have to give her an all-over examination. And even from here, he can tell it's bad.

He scrubs his hands for fifteen minutes, all by the protocol, so much by the protocol that the skin on his hands is dry and red and flaked to hell, before walking into the OR.

"BP 120 over 80," the assisting nurse says. "Decreasing pulse, left leg severely damaged, massive bleeding through common femoral artery."

"Get me some Kelly clamps," Lawrence says and puts his mask on. "Take care of that bleeding. Breathing?"

"Intubated, normal."

Lawrence steps up to the table.

"Scalpel."

It gets placed in his hand. He doesn't know who handed it to him.

Lawrence doesn't register it himself, but he takes a deep, almost quivering breath before he puts the scalpel to the patient's skin. He doesn't feel the nervousness, all he thinks about is the determination.

He knows what everyone else – all the nurses, other surgeons and interns in this room – thinks that he's going to do. But he won't. In fact, he'd rather have this woman dead than with only one leg. It's horrible, but he would.

Kids can grow up without a mother. But an immobile mother, he doesn't see how anyone could handle.

xxxxxxxxxxx

The intern that ran to get him from the on-call room comes see him afterwards, when he's sitting alone in the cafeteria, staring at the clock on the wall.

"That was a risky move you pulled in there," she says seriously.

"I know," Lawrence says. She doesn't seem to be satisfied with that.

"Just because it's worked out until now doesn't it mean it will in the future. You could've just as easily killed her, or her _baby,_ just because you wouldn't do a damn amputation."

Lawrence clears his throat. Scraps his thumbnail against his coffee cup.

"I know."

"That's what you always say," she bites back. "You refuse to do things the safe way for some reason, and the only reason you keep getting by on it is that you're a damn good surgeon. What's going to happen if you ever start slipping, huh? Or if you just have a bad day? Are you going to learn then, or are you going to keep doing this out of sheer stubbornness?"

Lawrence smiles bitterly and looks at her. He realizes that even though she's been his intern for almost a year now, and is the only one that dares to say stuff like this to him, he never manages to remember her name.

"That really sounds like something I would do," he says. "But trust me, once you start working by that table, you're going to realize just how much of your baggage that affects you even when it shouldn't."

She shakes her head. Can't help but smiling a little.

"That's depressing."

"You tell me," Lawrence says with a scoff, mostly at himself, before taking a sip of his already cold coffee. "And I'm a hundred and fifty years old; just imagine how much baggage I'm dragging around."

Her smile gets wider. He half-expects her to sit down with him, but eventually, she turns and leaves. Lawrence is left with his disgusting coffee and the thought of what he just said.

He hasn't lived with his mom in seventeen years. And still, she affects him so much that the thought of another kid growing up with a mother that can't do anything, that depends on her children to take care of things, makes every nerve in his body tense up in undetermined defiance. It's every bit as depressing as that intern said it was, and still something he's going to have to deal with for God knows how long.

Hell, he's not even sure what he'd be like without it.

How would he get by without all that anger? All that resentment towards her? If he didn't have something that he so desperately wanted to get away from, get Lou and Daniel away from, would he have any motivation to get here at all?

There's no use discussing this with Lou and Daniel. They barely remember those years, anyway, and thusly don't see them as a part of who they are. Even Daniel, who's always been the most analytic one of the three of them, either doesn't think of them or doesn't want to talk about them.

Lawrence brought the subject up with him a while back. Daniel had just finished his first day at Brown University, and then called Lawrence straight afterwards to say that he was dropping out. Lawrence drove all the way to Rhode Island just to sit with Daniel outside campus, holding him while he cried and then go out to get him coffee.

It took almost an hour before Lawrence could even get him to talk. When he did, all Daniel talked about was how he wasn't meant for this, he didn't have it in him, he didn't know why he'd ever thought that he did.

"The other kids don't even _need _the education," Daniel muttered, staring at the busy sidewalk next to their table. "It's just for the resumé. Like, 'look at this, not only am I smart and awesome and good at everything, I also went to Brown!' Half of the kids in my dorm are already fucking academics, they started writing novels when they were fifteen, I don't… I'm not like that."

Lawrence sighed. It was kind of depressing that the only times Daniel talked this much was when he was in the middle of some kind of nervous breakdown.

"Daniel," he said softly. "You wouldn't even think like that if it weren't for mom. You know that, right? Are you really going to let her win?"

Daniel turned to look at him. Then he looked down at his coffee cup, smiling joylessly.

"You know I still can't eat ice cream?" he said, in a tone of voice Lawrence had never heard from him before. It scared him a little. "Literally, it's impossible. I don't even remember when we lived with her, but when I eat something cold, it's like… I'm back there. In that… Trailer."

Lawrence didn't say anything for a while. He waited for Daniel to continue, but he didn't. Just kept staring at his coffee cup, more miserable than Lawrence had ever seen him.

"We were cold a lot when we lived there," Lawrence then said. "It almost killed you once. It's not weird that cold stuff still scares you, and it's not that much of a problem, either. I don't think you're ever going to find yourself in a situation where it's really important that you eat ice cream. I just don't want someone you haven't seen in twelve years to make you think you can't write on college level, because you _can. _I promise you that."

Daniel sighed, almost sounding annoyed, and looked up again.

"I can write in my bedroom," he said, trying to sound angry, but just sounding desperate. "Not in college. Not with professors grading it and shit. It's not me."

Lawrence has never hated their mom as much as he did right then.

Lou's a bit too cool to talk about that stuff, even though she remembers more of it than Daniel. Probably more than Lawrence does, too, because she stayed home all the time, when Lawrence was out trying to make ends meet for them. Lawrence can still see the aftereffects of their childhood on Lou sometimes; like her suspiciousness towards men, her neuroticism about spending money, her almost uncontrollable anger whenever someone tries to push her down. But it hasn't gotten to her the same way as it did to Lawrence and Daniel. In fact, she just might be the only Gordon kid that turns out as something other than a self-destructive mess.

"Stop blubbering, Lawrence," she said affectionately when Lawrence dropped her off outside of New York Law School on her first day. No matter how much she tried to act like she didn't care, she hugged him in a damn near rib-crushing manner before she got out of the car. "Someone's going to have to look after the women in this damn country."

Lawrence could've kept her in the car forever, explaining how she wouldn't think like that if they hadn't grown up the way they did. But even if he'd do that, she wouldn't want to hear it.

In fact, the only time Lou ever brings up their old life is when she asks about Adam, and when she does, Lawrence wishes she could just leave it.

She asks him if they ever talk. If Lawrence misses him. If he ever thinks about just how much of their current life that they owe to him.

And when she does, Lawrence feels so guilty and rotten down to the bone that he'd gladly tear out any kind of vital organ if that would take that feeling away.

When he was in college, he liked to think about Adam. That was basically what got him through the day. The thought that even though everything was hell right now, even though the darkness seemed to creep into him at night, cornering him and finding any weak point it could seep in through, and even though he had to study basically every minute of every day to avoid that feeling, it'd be okay later. He'd finish this stupid school, and he'd go back home. He'd find Adam and tell him all those things he should've told him before he left, all those things that he never had time for. He'd make up for it now.

And then he stopped writing to Adam, avoiding that feeling became more important than everything else. And then Lawrence stopped thinking about Adam, because he couldn't stand the idea of a failure.

Or, more accurately, that he failed one of the most important things in his life because he prioritized success with a bunch of useless bullshit. Or, it's not even useless; he has a really important profession and he worked his entire life to get to where he is now.

That's why it's so weird that it doesn't make him happy at all.

Lawrence sighs and looks at the clock again. It's almost eight. He stands up, picks up his cell phone, leaves his cold coffee on the table, and as he walks back to the on-call room to catch a couple more hours of sleep, he calls his daughter. Just a couple of minutes of sweet-talking nonsense before she goes to school, and he knows he'll have the energy to work for the rest of the day. He sometimes forgets that he still has someone around that can have that affect on him. He's not sure what he'd do if he didn't.

Lawrence gets to sleep until noon, then he has office hours. They always need extra people on Saturdays. This is when all the stupid kids who got into drunken fights the night before has finally come to the terms with the fact that their bottle-inflicted wounds are going to need stitches and get their asses to the hospital. Lawrence is happy to be of service. He doesn't need to see his daughter as long as he gets to do this.

He walks up to the nurses' station. One of them immediately lightens up and picks up a chart.

"Dr. Gordon," she says, with a weird tone of respect, and hands him the chart. "Your first patient is already in the examination room. Stab wound."

Lawrence nods curtly, grabs the clipboard and starts walking towards the examination room. He starts skimming over the papers as he's walking, entering the room without looking up. He's never had to make eye contact with his patients before, why should this one be any different?

"Okay," Lawrence says when kicks the door to the examination room shut behind him, still reading through the chart. Male, 35 years old, no previous conditions… "We've got some stitching to do here, don't we?"

He still doesn't look up. Until he hears that voice.

"Man. In all this time, you haven't gotten a new haircut?"

That's the first thing Adam says to Lawrence in sixteen years.


	32. Disposable Cups

A/N: I know this fanfic is pretty long at this point, but in case you haven't guessed it yet, you know what I love? Cliffhangers. Ah, cliffhangers. Like, when you reunite two characters that everyone knows belong together and should get married and have each other's babies. Especially if you do it by bringing in one of them after about 2000 words of back story on the other one, even when you know that everyone reading is just going: "Yeah, awesome, things turned out okay, NOW WHERE THE FUCK IS ADAM, BITCH?" And then give him one line before the chapter is over. Ah… Those cliffhangers. :D

**32: Disposable Cups**

After those words, Lawrence spends a few seconds too many with his eyes on the clipboard. Part of him wants to look up, just to make sure, because no, it couldn't be… And in the meantime, he knows it's exactly the way he thinks it is, and… What the hell is he going to do when it's actually Adam, right in front of him?

There's a snort from the table.

"Nice to see you too, Lawrence."

Lawrence swallows a lump in his throat, and closes the clipboard slowly. That's as much change as he can handle right now. When he looks up, he does it bit by bit, scanning up Adam's legs, baggy, comfy jeans worn at the knees, hasn't changed a bit since… Back then.

Lawrence looks up the rim of the leather jacket. It's the same, he's sure of it. He could've picked the jacket Adam wore when they were kids from a lineup of a thousand, all the times they were out walking, Adam gesturing against something and it squeaked tiredly at his joints. It's mainly this thought that makes Lawrence finally dare to look at Adam's face, finding an expression half excited, half annoyed.

Lawrence used to say that Adam wouldn't grow anything close to facial hair unless he injected testosterone directly into his veins, but there's actually a shade of stubble on his cheeks. His hair's gotten longer, curls around his temples. Other than that… Lawrence can't tell what's different. But something is. Other than him being almost twenty years older than the last time Lawrence saw him, of course.

When he sees the way Adam looks at him, though, he realizes that this is not the right time to talk serious.

"You haven't changed that much yourself, Adam," he says with a smile.

Adam seems to debate whether or not to get angry over the fact that that's the only thing Lawrence has to say to his defense. But eventually, he can't hold back a grin, and then, Lawrence can't feel terrified. Never could, when Adam looks at him like that.

Whether it was about a test, his future, or now, his past.

They stay like that for a while. Eventually, Adam's the one that gives up, turns his right side to Lawrence, revealing an ugly, glistening wound, grinning at Lawrence through the leather of the jacket. Lawrence's stomach turns, even though he saw a woman with her leg literally crushed earlier today.

"Are you going to stand there like an idiot or do your fucking job?" Adam asks wearily and gestures to the wound. "It'd look kind of bad if I bled out with you standing by doing nothing."

"Oh," Lawrence says with a flinch and picks up a bottle of disinfectant from the table next to him. "Right…"

He pours some alcohol on a cotton ball, and tries to think of a way to clean Adam's wound without having to look at it. For some reason, it never occurred to him that Adam was actually hurt. He never did back then, either. Always saw him as something indestructible, probably because that's what he needed to see him as. And clearly, he's the same way now.

Even though he hasn't thought of Adam in years, it hurts him more to see him with a stab wound than it does seeing anyone else on the brink of death.

"What did you do to get this, anyway?" Lawrence asks, trying to distract himself when he brings the cotton ball to the edges of the cut. "This is going to hurt…"

Adam inhales through his teeth when Lawrence starts cleaning his wound. Lawrence knows how much this stings, but Adam won't show it, of course he won't, and for some reason, that thought makes him strikingly sad.

"Bar fight," Adam replies, his voice shaking slightly. "I spilled beer over this asshole, turned out he had a knife and… stuff."

Lawrence looks up at him briefly, putting a hand on Adam's shoulder to keep him steady. That'd probably make him feel all kind of stuff if he hadn't been working right now.

"It's noon, Adam," he says. "And you got this wound _today?_ In a bar fight?"

He straightens up and throws the cotton ball in the trashcan, keeping his gaze on Adam. Adam doesn't look back. There's a tightening in his jaw that Lawrence remembers used to make him feel uneasy.

"I don't have a lot going on," Adam mutters.

There's an undertone in his voice. That used to make Lawrence feel uneasy, too.

They stay like that for a few seconds. Feel like forever. Then Adam looks back at Lawrence, his bitterness gone, and Lawrence suddenly remembers that he's _still _at work, and grabs the hook-shaped needle and the dissolvent thread from the table.

"This is going to hurt, too," he says and threads the needle.

"More than getting slashed by a pissed off biker?" Adam says, sounding like Lawrence's stupidity endears him. But then Lawrence starts pulling the needle through his skin, and Adam inhales sharply again, but this time, unable to hold back a groan of pain. Lawrence wants to say something comforting, it hurts him probably just as much as Adam to be in this situation. But when he opens his mouth, he realizes that he really has no idea what to say.

He hasn't cared about patients in so long, his soothing vocabulary is completely blank as long as he's in his lab coat.

As he stitches Adam up, though, squeezing his arm tightly to keep him from squirming away, it doesn't feel the way it usually does in these situations. Not just because it's Adam, but because… His lab coat suddenly feels too big for him. Like he put it on when he was in his teens, always expecting to grow into it eventually, but still hasn't.

"Aren't you fucking done yet?" Adam growls, and even without looking up, Lawrence can see his hand clenching into a fist next to him on the table.

"One second," Lawrence mumbles, and tries to finish the last three stitches as quickly as he can.

Before too long, he can straighten up, take one look at Adam's face and hate himself intensely for a second or so. It doesn't matter that he's gone through a goddamn maze, through diplomas and training and many sleepless nights in the on-call room; he hasn't grown up enough to stand knowing that he's hurt Adam.

"You want a lollipop for being such a good boy?" he settles for asking, before picking up the roll of gauze and unwrapping it over the stitches.

"Fuck you," Adam bites back. "It hurt."

"I know," Lawrence says. "I'm sorry. But it's done now."

_You can go now. _That's what he would've said to anyone else. He probably says it with his eyes, because Adam looks up at him, and his expression, that had become at least a little relaxed, is like a shadow of disappointment cast on his face.

"Great," he says. "Thanks."

His voice is oddly blank. When he stands up, Lawrence gets a completely unexplainable rush of panic.

"But you know…" he almost calls out, "you look kind of worn down. It's probably better if I can get you a room, put you on an IV to get you pumped up."

"Really?" Adam says. He's definitely happy, but somehow, he doesn't really seem to believe him.

"Yeah," Lawrence babbles and takes off his latex gloves. "My shift ends in three hours, I'll… Check up on you then. Maybe we can… Get some coffee in the cafeteria. It's disgusting, but… You know."

Adam grins. It's the first untainted smile Lawrence has seen on his face since he walked in. Probably because Lawrence has been too terrified to give him a reason to smile.

"We've had a lot worse, if I recall correctly," he says and stands up.

That instant coffee Adam made on rations when they lived together, miserable and broke, but happy. Drunken in the middle of the night, on that futon they shared.

"Yeah," Lawrence says while they walk out of the room. "Yeah, we did."

xxxxxxxxxxx

Lawrence knows that a lot of people becoming doctors and nurses, no matter how jaded they turn out when they've done it for as long as he has, had good intentions when they started out. They all walked through the halls like they saw them for the very first time, marveling in wonder of what they would do to the patients here.

The same hallways they now rush through without even looking up, are the hallways that they walked through on their first day, thinking: I'm going to make a difference here.

I'm going to make the patients feel better, not only physically, but on every level.

I'm going to make them love themselves, no matter what else is going on with them.

I'm going to bring them their lives back.

And it's kind of funny, Lawrence thinks, that all those doctors and nurses that rush by them now without even looking up, have no idea that all those things they wanted to accomplish, are going on by this very table, where he's sitting with Adam, drinking disgusting coffee from disposable cups.

Adam's still nervous about the whole thing. Lawrence isn't sure what he expected to happen when he came here, but clearly not this. He's sort of squirming on his chair, taking regular breaks in the conversation to sweep invisible dirt from the table. Lawrence doesn't mind. He has no idea why he was terrified about this at first, and now that that's settled down, he can watch Adam doing his nervous quirks and feel like he's gone seventeen years back in time.

Even though things weren't necessarily simpler back then.

"What about your family?" Lawrence asks. "You stayed in touch with at least parts of it?"

"The old bastard's dead," Adam says, no trace of regret whatsoever, keeping a steady gaze on his cup. "Mom and I talk on the phone, see each other on Thanksgiving… And believe it or not, Claire became pretty cool when she got her own place. But maybe that's because she didn't get knocked around that often."

The last sentence is the first serious sentence he's spoken this far, they've both tried to keep it light. Lawrence nods slowly. He barely remembers Claire, he remembers bright blue eyes that looked a lot like Adam's, only happier. But now that he hears it again, he remembers the exact tone Adam got in his voice when he talked about her, at least after he stopped hating her. A little resentful, but mostly proud.

"Did you do what you set out for?" Adam asks after a few seconds of silence, sending Lawrence a sly look. "You always said you'd make it chief of surgery before you were thirty-five. You only have a couple of months left."

Lawrence smiles, blushing a little.

"I'm not quite there yet," he says, looking down at his cup. "But… I'm what they call a 'candidate of interest.'"

Adam nods. When Lawrence looks up, he's met with a smile sparkling with pride.

"I must admit, I expected nothing less," he says, softly, like he wants no one else to hear.

Lawrence really hopes he doesn't blush even more, but it definitely feels like it.

"But listen…" Adam goes on after another few seconds of silence, "we need to talk about the fact that there's no ring on that finger."

Lawrence looks down at his left hand, squeezing the spot where the wedding ring used to be. That intense warmth he felt over the last thing Adam said is replaced with something else. Hopefulness, maybe.

"Yeah…" he says absently. "There used to be one. Now, there's just a pretty little kid waiting for me to pick her up from school."

"From school? I'm not surprised if you get a younger chick after breaking up with your wife, but please tell me she's at least eighteen."

Lawrence laughs.

"She's only eight, actually. The only girl for me. Diana."

"Such a preppy name," Adam says and takes a sip of his coffee. "You're going to screw up that kid for good. You got any pictures?"

Lawrence shows him the picture in his wallet. He hasn't gotten one without Alison in it, and he sees a hint of bitterness in Adam's eyes when he looks at her.

"Why didn't it work out?" he asks as Lawrence puts his wallet back in his pocket.

"I'm a fuckup," Lawrence answers. "Especially with relationships. Or just especially with her. I'd be better off with someone who didn't demand anything from me."

Adam smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes.

"Maybe you can get a hooker."

Pause.

"There's no ring on your finger, either."

Lawrence knows it was a bad idea to say that the second he says it. Adam's jaw tightens up again, but he does his best to play along.

"Did you expect it to be?" He tries, but he just sounds pissed off. "If you're a fuckup, then I'm a fucking hurricane."

Lawrence doesn't even try to act like that's a joke. Wouldn't matter if he did. Adam doesn't look at him when he says it.

They're quiet for a while again. It's up to Adam to start this conversation; Lawrence has no idea when it's okay for him to talk.

"What happened to Lou and Daniel?" Adam finally says and leans over the table. "You haven't covered them yet."

"Well…" Lawrence says, taking a sip of his coffee. "Daniel's doing his second year on Brown. Still doesn't talk much, but he doesn't have to; you should see the stuff that kid writes down. And Lou… She's a soon-to-be fully licensed lawyer."

Whatever bitterness Adam felt towards Lawrence melts away when he hears this. His face opens up in another one of those perfect smiles. Lawrence hasn't fully realized until now that Adam really has no idea what's happened to these kids in the past seventeen years. He was one of the most important people in their lives when they were kids, and he doesn't even know the amazing adults they turned into.

"For some reason, it makes perfect sense that she'd turn out that way," Adam says, leaning his head against his hand.

"Yeah," Lawrence smiles. "Specialized in women rights."

Adam rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his coffee.

"Of course."

"All the boys at the university were terrified of her," Lawrence goes on. "Apparently she's one of the few women they'll ever meet that they have absolutely no power over."

Adam chuckles. There's another pause, during which he fidgets with his paper cup, seems to think about something.

"What about Daniel?" he asks, with a different tone in his voice. "He turned out okay?"

He means something other than what Daniel's graduating in, Lawrence gets that much. That doesn't exactly make it easier. He's not sure how to put into words what effect their upbringing had on them.

"He… He's okay," he settles for saying. "Just… Kind of anxious. And kind of… Sad, you know? And there are times when he tries to get through to people, tries to make himself understood, and they don't listen… Then he almost panics. When he gets ignored."

He quiets down abruptly. Damn it. They shouldn't have had this conversation. They go too far back. Lawrence hoped he wouldn't have to go there again.

Adam stares at him through this entire speech, like he's trying to figure him out. Or like he has figured him out and isn't sure if he likes what he sees.

That look scares Lawrence, so he doesn't say anything after that. He waits for Adam to speak up again.

"Do you know what happened to your mom, Lawrence?" Adam finally says, his tone graver now.

Lawrence takes a deep breath.

"Yeah."

"Yeah," Adam says sharply, leaning over the table again. "And you know what happened to Wendy?"

All his walls have come down, he's letting out everything. All the resentment he built up towards Lawrence during all these years. And all of the sudden, Lawrence is twenty again, in his dorm apartment, terrified and alone, trying to keep his panic attack as quiet as possible to not wake up Lou and Daniel, sleeping on the mattress on the floor. He's back there, that position when he wanted nothing more than for Adam to be there, in the meantime as everything from his old life scared the hell out of him.

He remembers when he heard about Wendy's death. Such a completely pointless thing. She was doing okay for herself, she had a job, she could stay in motel rooms when the nights got bad. And then she got caught up in a convenience store robbery.

Lawrence thinks he remembers the time after those news reached him, but in reality, he doesn't remember much. He remembers sleepless nights, having every single light in the apartment on but still screaming at the tiniest noise. He remembers Diana running out of the room if he ever tried to come near her, and he remembers Alison going to stay with her mother, according to her because she couldn't stand seeing him this way.

But what he remembers most of all is that one thought, over and over.

_I left her behind. _

And he did. Just like he left his mom behind.

Just like he left Adam.

Adam's sitting on the other side of the table, looking like he's wanted to say this for years. Lawrence wishes he wouldn't. He's seen so many therapists to learn to fight this very feeling, that's welling up in him right now.

"Everyone from your old life is _dead," _Adam hisses, the hand that isn't gesturing wildly a tight fist on the table. "Everyone except me."

Lawrence wants to cover his ears. Wants to crawl in a corner. Away.

"Am I that much of a _fucking _disgrace for you…" Adam goes on, barely more than spitting words out now, "that you can't even answer a goddamn Email?"

Lawrence can't answer him. He can barely think. He's back there again. He wants out.

He has to get out.

Adam seems to interpret Lawrence's unresponsive, wide-eyed look as a lack of caring. After a few seconds, he stands up, grabs his jacket and starts walking towards the door.

Lawrence can't move. His fingers are clutching to the table, with that one thought, that one _fucking _thought that could ever get him to leave Adam, the one that put him on that plane seventeen years ago.

_I have to get out. _

He doesn't notice until a couple of minutes after Adam left, that he's clearly gotten out, since he's in a hospital, all alone.


	33. Worlds Connected

A/N: So… Yup. This is the final chapter. It's not quite as epic as it was in my head when I planned it, but what do you do. Truth is, in my head, it's so epic, I'll never be happy with it. XD By the way, while we're on the subject: Remember three years ago, when I published the first chapter of this thing? And wrote in my AN that this would probably be the first-ever fanfic I wrote where Adam and Lawrence didn't hook up? Ah… I was so young and naïve. Either way, I'm really thankful for the ones that still read this, and the ones that review (even though there aren't that many of you XD), you are all awesome, and I hope that this fanfic has been everything you've ever dreamed of, and you're going to walk away from it feeling better about life and bounce on little pink clouds.

**33: Worlds Connected**

Lawrence stays on his chair for a few minutes after Adam's left. He has no idea why, but in his apathy, it feels important to stare at the coffee stains on the obnoxiously red table. More important than going after Adam. Or maybe it's just that he doesn't think.

When he does stand up and walks out the front doors of the hospital, has no idea what he wants to accomplish with that. He doesn't know where Adam would go, he doesn't know if he's even staying in the city or just dropped by because he wanted to see Lawrence, and if he did, it's not like you can blame him, but it would be kind of weird. Lawrence doesn't get how Adam can even stand to look at him.

He walks outside, then he stops. When he looks around, there's nothing but a parking lot he's seen a million times before. He sort of expected it to be enlightened with some kind of magical fairy glow now that he's seen Adam again, but no. It's just the same fucking parking lot, and Adam's not even on it. Not even Adam can make asphalt magical, despite what Lawrence felt like a few minutes earlier, when they were sitting in there. Awkward, nervous, so many broken things between them. But they were there. It was real.

This isn't real. It doesn't _notice. _In fact, the only thing Lawrence is feeling right now is slight annoyance, a slimy burn in his stomach when his ulcer is acting up from the coffee, and he's tired, because he hasn't slept properly. And that's the way he's felt for a long, long time.

Lawrence looks around the parking lot again. Sighs.

Then he straightens up, shoves his hands into his pockets and starts walking towards his car.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Lawrence gets back home about fifteen minutes later. He should walk that distance, he knows that. His physical condition is far from the best.

He always walks to the hospital when Diana's coming with him to work, to set a good example. But for some reason, she never believed him when he said that he walked to work when she wasn't there, too.

Lawrence walks up the stairs, his steps heavier than usual, even though he barely feels any sadness. It's not until now that he realizes that he has no reason to go home, though, and that thought kind of… Unaccustomed.

He lives for those days he gets with Diana. Coming home to an empty apartment usually isn't that bad; most of the time, he's too tired to think about how he feels. But now, that he has to walk up the stairs feeling like this, it's like he's never seen his stairway before.

When he's just a couple of steps from his floor, Lawrence's foot stops mid-air. His blood goes red-hot when he sees Adam sitting cross-legged, leaned against the door, camera in his lap.

Adam doesn't look up until Lawrence sets his foot down. He probably notices him, but he's looking intently into the camera screen, that passion and care that he saved for his pictures and for when Lawrence was upset. Then he looks up at Lawrence, who suddenly feels cold all over. He wished Adam would give him a look that he could read, he has no idea how to interpret that expression.

_You'd be able to read him if you'd talked to him _once _in the past ten years. _

"Hi," Lawrence says.

Adam keeps staring at him. That look again, trying to figure him out. After one last glance at his camera, he stands up, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. He takes a step closer to Lawrence, but now keeps his eyes on the ground.

"We should go inside," he mutters.

His tone makes it sound like he's talking about something much more serious.

"Oh," Lawrence says, flinching briefly after being stuck staring at Adam standing in front of him, and taking his keys out of his pocket. "Of course, hang on…"

He walks past Adam and unlocks the door, opens up and gestures for Adam to come in. Despite the situation, he can't help but acting the way he always does. _Polite, _but nothing more.

Adam steps past him, taking his jacket off and tossing it on the couch. He barely glances around the apartment before he turns around to face Lawrence. Lawrence has to force himself to look back. That face was once the bandage when he'd walked around with an open wound for his whole life.

"Don't think you're off the hook just because I got too pissed to look at you," Adam says, actually managing to stay calm with some effort. "I didn't want to go separate ways before clearing everything out, that's why I came here. I'd still like some answers."

Lawrence nods rapidly, while he's overcome with another wave of that feeling that he had to leave Adam to avoid. Adam deserves answers, he does. Lawrence should give them to him. He should give Adam whatever the hell he wants, but how the hell is he going to do that?

"Of course you do, of course you do," he says, not even noticing how shrill his voice sounds. "It was… I…"

"Lawrence," Adam interrupts patiently. "Try to keep breathing for me, okay?"

"Yeah," Lawrence goes on and starts twisting his hands, goddamn it, he's not _that_ nervous, they should stop shaking. "I'm sorry, I… There was… I was I was I was just…"

"Lawrence," Adam says, suddenly he's right in front of him, hesitating for the briefest of seconds before putting his hands on his shoulders. "Calm down. I don't want you to… For fuck's sake, don't look at me like that…"

Lawrence stares back down at him, not sure what exactly he's so upset about. He's fine, he's been fine without Adam for sixteen years, there's no reason to think he should get a relapse into all his anxiety just because they're together again. But either way, he really wants to stop doing whatever it is he's doing that makes Adam worried. He doesn't want Adam to be worried, but it doesn't feel like he's given him a reason to. He's just a little jumpy.

Adam drops one of the hands he kept on Lawrence's shoulders to rub his hairline tiredly. When he looks back up at him, he looks so tired.

"We don't have to talk about it, okay?" he says, tossing his hand out. "There's never been any use talking to you when you're like this."

"Like what?" Lawrence asks. Adam just shakes his head.

"Nothing. I…" Adam picks up his camera, gesturing with it feebly. "I… I took some pictures on the bus over here. Do you want to take a look?"

Lawrence looks from the camera to Adam. Somehow, the whole situation is hard for him to make sense of, and his hands are still shaking. In the middle of all the other things he's feeling right now, these things frantically buzzing and crashing like terrified fireflies, he realizes that while Adam's getting tiny wrinkles around his eyes, he's still a good ten inches shorter than Lawrence. Christ, they really haven't grown up more than that?

"…Yeah," Lawrence says. "That sounds great."

Adam nods affirmatively, though he's still looking at Lawrence like he's worried he's going to fall to pieces if he lets him go.

"Good," he says and turns around, facing the long hall that leads to the living room. "You're going to have to tour me to the living room, though, because this place is a fucking maze. You really couldn't think of a better way to spend your money?"

Lawrence grins insecurely as they start walking down the hall.

"I'm not as creative as you are," while they're walking. "I can get you some five dollar hookers if it makes you feel better."

Adam snorts.

"Now would be when we beat each other up," he mutters under his breath while they walk into the living room. Lawrence turns to him, looking less terrified now.

"What?"

Adam swallows, sits down on the couch and thinks about just letting it pass by. Lawrence doesn't seem to respond well to him bringing up those times, but then he thinks fuck it, and looks back up at him.

"When we first met," he says, sounding more secure than he really is. "In the hallway. I said that I couldn't be more bored in a conference room with the… Daddy that probably bought that pretty suit for you, and you said… That I looked so cheap that I must've been a little more bored if… If the hookers on my neighborhood blew me, or something like that."

Lawrence sits down next to him, seemingly completely fine being so close to him that they're literally touching, leg to leg, arm to arm, and smiles, still with a hint of nervousness.

"I really hated your guts back then," he says softly.

Adam smiles back. He's barely present in the moment, though. In his head, he's back in those hallways, the air dusty and dry, feeling like there were spiders under his skin just from being in that building, and seeing that blond, messy-haired boy for the first time. That makes it feel even weirder to look at the man in front of him right now.

"There's no reason you shouldn't have," Adam says, not fully able to turn away. "I was an obnoxious little asshole."

"You were."

"You weren't that much better yourself, though," Adam grins, before picking up his camera and starts flipping through the pictures. The moment's gone, but they're still there, touching. "Look at this, I took it from the window of the bus. There was this kid outside when we stopped in Vermont…"

"Right, I have to ask you that," Lawrence interrupts. "Why did you come here now? And… From where?"

Adam freezes for a second, before blushing, looking down.

"I'm staying in Rhode Island now days," he says. "But I got this job in Maine, and I didn't plan on anything at first, but then I got into that fight, so…"

Lawrence isn't sure if he should laugh or cry at that.

"You got on a four-hour bus ride with that wound?" he bursts out.

Adam smiles sheepishly and fingers on the bandage on his arm.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time, you know?"

"No, I don't know," Lawrence says with a nervous laugh. "Aren't there any doctors in Maine?"

He knows it's a stupid question the second he says it. Adam doesn't even answer him, just gives him this undetermined look before he picks up his camera again. If Lawrence wants to pretend that he's been approachable enough for Adam to show up without an excuse, Adam won't take that fantasy away from him.

"See this?" he says, leaning closer to show Lawrence the screen. "This is really just the seat in front of me. But the fucking road was so bumpy, my hands were shaking, so now it looks like some kind of weird-ass melted ice cream. I thought it was kind of cool, though. What do you think?"

Of course Adam's going to do this at Lawrence's rate. That's just who he is.

Even though he's the one who's been waiting for sixteen years for a damn Email.

The camera is another thing that Lawrence knows instinctively is the same one that he had when they were kids. Sure, most systematic cameras probably look more or less the same, but it's just the way Adam works with it. His fingers on the buttons, the way he holds it. Despite the ways his face has changed, as Lawrence keeps looking at his hands while the night goes on, he gets more and more convinced that he hasn't aged a minute since that day at the airport.

Lawrence doesn't get how he can be this way. The same eager and passion about his pictures as he had when he was eighteen. Not when he's actually older than Lawrence, and Lawrence feels like he's a hundred, body and soul.

Lawrence isn't sure how long after they sat down; it's hard to keep tracks of time when all he can think of is Adam being right next to him and the soul-crushing regret that's suddenly welling up in him. But eventually, he grabs Adam's hand, cutting him off mid-sentence, and Adam flinches, looking up at him like he didn't know this was going to happen, but of course he did, he had to.

Lawrence takes a few quivering breaths, looking at Adam firmly, trying to think of what he actually wants to say rather than the panic. He's going to get this right this time. They're so close now, so close.

"Adam," he says. His voice sounds kind of steady. "I… I couldn't keep in touch with you. I was scared. I was so scared of everything that made me feel, because I couldn't feel when I started college, there was no… Room for that, and I…"

He's not sure where to go from there. Adam's looking at him, wide-eyed, disbelieving, just a tiny bit of hope, before his mouth tightens up and he just looks angry.

"You what?" he asks, probably trying to sound composed but not really succeeding.

"I…" Lawrence sighs. All this sounds so stupid when he says it out loud. "I don't know. I don't know how this happened. During the first year, you were the only thing that kept me going, and then I got… I got scared. I…"

He stops in his tracks when he sees that Adam looks like he's been slapped in the face. They're still sitting right next to each other, Lawrence clutching to his hand, how can it feel like they're suddenly miles apart?

"_Scared?" _Adam repeats sharply. "Of _me?"_

Lawrence swallows. Whatever he says now is only going to make it worse. Adam glares at him, searching his face for something through narrowed eyes. This time, he definitely doesn't find whatever he's looking for.

"I used to be the one thing that kept you from being scared."

Lawrence wants to put a bullet in his head when he hears the way Adam says it. Like he's lost all hope on them. It must show better than he thought it did, because before he knows it, Adam's torn his hand out of his grip to punch it feebly into his chest, no physical effect, just to show his frustration, and well, no one can say that's not justified.

"For fuck's _sake, _Lawrence!" Adam growls and keeps hitting him. "You can't start crying every time I try to tell you did a shitty thing! How am I supposed to tell you off then, huh? You can't be held responsible for _anything_ because you're a fucking nervous wreck?"

Lawrence didn't even realize he was crying. He dries his cheek halfheartedly with one hand and tries to grab Adam's arm with the other. Adam fights him off and keeps hitting him, not hard, he'd never intentionally hurt him, but the pain bottled up for all these years are enough.

It's so weird, because hurting Adam is the last thing Lawrence would ever want to do. Why did he do this to him to begin with?

Adam yanks his arm out of his grasp one last time, and eventually sits back down, as abruptly as he started hitting him in the first place. For a second, he doesn't even look at Lawrence, just a few deep breaths, before putting his camera down at the coffee table, with a carefulness that looks parodic next to how violent he was a moment ago. Lawrence wipes away some more tears, feels the panic welling up again, but fuck that, he needs to say this. He's finally figured out a way to put what fucked them up into words, and he can panic later.

"I've never done a thing right in my life, Adam," he says. His voice sounds so weird. "I can't. It's like a roadblock in my head. I married this amazing woman and I couldn't love her because I didn't know… How to. And I got this job that I'd wanted my entire life, and turned it into another thing I could have nightmares about. I don't know why I do it, it just is. But if I messed up things like marriages and jobs, that I can always get more of… Fuck, just imagine how much I'd have to mess up something like you, right?"

Adam doesn't look at him once while he's talking. When it's been quiet for so long that Lawrence is thinking of saying something else, Adam turns to him again. The way he looks at him is like a raw, open wound, and Lawrence is so, so scared that it's going to end here.

"You're a fucking idiot," Adam says through gritted teeth.

And kisses him.

Like the very first time, that night in the alley a hundred years ago, Lawrence is so shocked that he recoils at first. He half-expected Adam to hit him again. He'd deserve that a hell of a lot more than this, but still turns to Adam for more, opening his mouth and putting both hands on his waist, not sure how far he's allowed to go. Adam doesn't seem to have a problem with it, but easily takes the upper hand, pushing Lawrence down on his back and sandwiching his legs between his.

They're not kids anymore, no. They don't have their lives in front of them, and everything, including this, turns into a lot more work than it used to be. Lawrence hasn't been on the bottom in this situation since that first time, which was also a hundred years ago, but with Adam, he's not even going to try.

Despite everything that's changed, right now, their roles are set the exact same way they were back then. Lawrence is terrified, and Adam feels betrayed. He hopes to God it won't stay that way.

At least Adam stays with him afterwards. Lawrence sort of expected him to leave him here, drained and hot and sleepy, since after all, they haven't really solved anything. But Adam lies down, his head on his chest and one arm draped sloppily across his stomach. Lawrence lifts his hand, sort of testing his luck, and starts playing with fondly strands of his hair.

He doesn't care that this couch isn't really designed to sleep in, or that Adam's sweat is more cold and clammy than hot and sexy at this point. He never wants to get up from here. Things are simpler right now than they have been once since he left. And probably simpler than his teens, though, or he wouldn't have put so much energy into repressing them.

Adam only lets it last for a couple of minutes, though. Then he heaves himself up, sighs heavily and turns to look at him.

"It's not this simple, Lawrence," he says gravelly. "You could've had this whenever you wanted. You knew that. You must've known that. But you never came back. I… I _waited _for you. You had me believing I'd never have to wait for you in my life."

There's that tone again. Lawrence has never felt worse about himself in his life.

"Is that really all you got?" Adam goes on. Not accusing, genuinely wondering. "It was so damn good that you couldn't take it? That's why you couldn't come back?"

Lawrence reaches up and puts his hand on top of Adam's.

"I was on my way of becoming everything I'd tried to be all my life," he says.

"And then there was no place for me?" Adam interrupts venomously.

Lawrence sighs.

"There was. Or, I don't know… I didn't get it back then. I was eighteen, damn it. I was stupid. Don't you remember what it was like?"

Adam gives him a look that seems too dark for him.

"Yeah," he says and looks away. "I remember."

Lawrence has to tighten his grip on his hand, because the thought that strikes him is terrifying. Adam's never going to understand what he means, just how much he means to him. He's never going to understand, and that's Lawrence's fault, because he's the one that kept him from being there when it happened.

Adam would know just how much Lawrence needed him if he saw him all those sleepless nights in college when the walls seemed to close around him. Or those times when he was grownup, should've known better, when he was supposed to write a medical report on a surgery that went wrong and had to lock himself in the bathroom and sit there for a while with his hands over his ears to block out all those voices that told him again and again how useless he was.

Those voices always sounded so much like his own.

Lawrence really hopes Adam's going to give him time to tell him all those things. Time never moved this fast back then. Even though everything was easier then, simply because they had each other.

"I've loved you since I was sixteen, Adam," Lawrence says. "I just didn't show it as well as you did. To be honest, I'm not even sure I'll be better at it now."

Adam turns to him. Searching his face again.

"I've done a pretty good job at patching you up in the past, if I do say so myself," he then says, almost carefully. "But I'm a little worried I'm too late for this one."

Lawrence nods slowly.

"Me, too."

Adam keeps looking at him. Lawrence is convinced he's going to stand up and leave, but then he feels slim little fingers braiding together with his own. Fits perfectly. Some things don't change.

Lawrence pulls Adam down to him again. He wants to be patient, make this moment last, but it doesn't feel like they have time. He needs to be as close to Adam as he can, they've lost enough time already.

Adam lies back down with his head against Lawrence's chest. He doesn't think of this the way Lawrence does. He doesn't need to make the most of it. With all the time they've already wasted, they can waste a little more. Plus, knowing the way they are, they're probably going to spend half of the time they have left trying to sort out their bullshit, and right now, he's just tired.

He closes his eyes. Lawrence won't go to sleep for hours, because he needs to savor every second of this. And no matter how long it takes until he actually gives up, he's going to be kicking himself tomorrow because he's going to think he fell asleep too soon.

That's the way he is, that's the way he's always been.

Their hands hold on. Adam drifts off to sleep, but tomorrow, he's going to bring Lawrence to that alley with the stolen cigarettes where they can stay forever, that trailer where no one's going to get beat up by their mom.

That promised land they never got when they were kids.


End file.
